


Echoes of the past

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Class Differences, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Secret Relationship, Pining, That doesn't apply to the main pairings either, implied past mpreg, more like pseudo historical, more tags to be added probably, none of the last 2 take place between Greg/Mycroft and/or Sherlock/John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 39,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Eight years ago Greg Lestrade left the Holmes Manor with a secret, determined not to burden his lover with it.But life rarely goes according to plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So… this. I enjoy writing in general A LOT, but angst makes the happiest and when I’m having a more or less crappy day, I find it very cathartic (I’m weird, I know). Also, I LOVE writing unplanned pregnancies for some reason; they do make up for a lot of angst and pining and misunderstandings so… well. Also, it’s been awhile since I wrote an A/B/O dynamics fic (which is a guilty pleasure of mine) and never before had I given Greg and Mycroft a lovechild, so… well. Here we are.  
> Please mind the tags. I don’t think it’ll be one of my darkest works, but it certainly deals with some… unpleasantries. I love writing pseudo-historical fics, so this is vaguely based on victorian england, but not quite, although it does supposedly take place in London. I’ll try to make sure it makes sense ;)  
> I’m thinking of making this my NaNoWriMo project but I’m not sure I should be doing that since I do have another 2 WIPs and I’d have to put them in (sort of) hiatus so… I don’t know.  
> Oh well, I suppose we’ll see.  
> In the meantime, enjoy!

The restaurant is more elegant than Greg expected.

He smiles pleasantly at the waiter, who gives him a thoughtful once over before offering him something to drink. Greg asks for water, knowing for sure he can’t afford anything that they might serve here and the waiter nods, although the expression on his face suggests that if it was up to him, he’d happily throw Greg out.

Not unusual, really.

He squirms a bit in his seat, feeling woefully underdressed. His suit might be functional for work, but it has definitely seen better days and it’s a far cry from the elegant suits the men around him are wearing.

He glances at his pocket watch discreetly and holds back a sigh. It’d be just his luck to be stood up, but he can not honestly say that that would be an unpleasant outcome. In fact he’d trade the elegant restaurant and its no doubt fancy food for the plain meal he could cook home if he could leave right now.

There’s a commotion at the restaurant’s entrance and Greg knows his _date_ has arrived. The host is looking quite flustered as he guides Lord Magnussen towards Greg’s table and his stomach twists unpleasantly, although he forces himself to smile. The Lord kisses his hand, his eyes alight with wicked delight and he takes a seat in front of him before asking for a bottle of wine that probably costs more than Greg’s whole pantry back home.

Greg lets the other man choose their food and lead the conversation, only participating when his input is strictly needed. His companion doesn’t seem to mind; as most lords he’s entirely too enamored with the sound of his own voice and Greg’s done this enough times to know what’s expected of him.

With that thought in mind, he keeps getting more and more nervous as they finish their meal. The food is no doubt delicious, judging by the lovely smell and the way it looks, but it tastes like ash in his all too dry mouth. Whenever he’s in this situation he’s always left thinking what a pity it is he can’t take it home for his daughter, who would no doubt enjoy eating a more rich meal every now and then.

He declines the offer for dessert, knowing the more he eats the more trouble he’ll have handling the rest of the night's activities. His partner seems pleased with his choice, but in no hurry to leave and Greg steals another glance at his watch. Ellie is probably already asleep and it’s not like John will complain if he arrives late, but he wants to be done with this as soon as possible.

“Shall we?” Lord Magnussen asks finally, having already paid the bill, staring at Greg as if he’s a particularly appetizing piece of meat and the younger man nods, forcing himself to stand despite the fact his knees feel entirely too wobbly.

As they wait for the Lord’s carriage to arrive, Greg takes a deep breath, willing himself to relax.

It’s almost over after all.

* * *

 

The thing is, Greg likes his job.

He’d like it better if he hadn’t such a creep as a boss, but all things considered, it’s not quite that bad. Being an Omega would make finding a job difficult enough, not having any form of formal education made it nearly impossible, but Greg had persevered. He had a very small mouth to feed, after all and so eventually he had found a position as an assistant at a accounting firm. Mr. Smith is an unpleasant fellow that has no trouble getting his hands dirty for his clients, but he pays decently and has no trouble with Greg’s status.

The only issue is that Mr. Smith’s clients aren’t pleasant fellows either and they have a tendency to get… handsy with Greg. Mr. Smith made it very clear from the very beginning he’d not tolerate any trouble on that front and that Greg was expected to endure it with a polite smile on his face. And if any particularly well off or influential client wanted something… _extra_ , Greg was supposed to allow it.

It isn’t a walk in the park, for sure, but at least he has a job and, with any luck, it’ll open him the doors somewhere else eventually. And it’s not like Greg cares overly much: as his mother used to say, the trick is to lie back and think of literally anything else.

In Greg’s case, his thoughts usually drift to pleasant memories of a time when he had dreamed of a different life. Things had been looking up when he started working at the Holmes Manor, but, like the fool he was, he had taken his daydreams too far. Not that he regrets it _per se_ , he never could, but if he had been a little less _naive,_ if he had listened to his head instead of his heart…

Well. He wouldn’t be here, would he?

Although, who knows? He certainly didn’t want to be a servant his whole life and even if he had stayed longer at the Manor, he’d still have no formal education, so-

The carriage stops abruptly, dragging Greg out of his thoughts. His companion steps out and offers him his hand to descend the carriage. Greg’s heartbeat has picked up speed, as usual, but he forces himself not to show how nervous he is. Lord Magnussen is speaking to the cart driver and Greg steps closer to the hotel’s entrance to guard himself of the rain that has just started to fall. The place is nicer than the ones he has been taken to before and he eyes the Lord speculatively. None of his previous _dates_ have been quite as _generous_ and he’s not quite sure what to think about this. The Lord has no real interest in him, he’s just after sex, but he hasn’t been quite as crude about it as others.

Most perplexing, really. And a bit unnerving, if he must be honest.

He doesn’t think he likes it one bit.

* * *

 

He closes his eyes, his mind attempting to escape his body as it usually does in these moments. At least the Lord doesn’t seem inclined to hurt him as some of his _dates_ have done in the past. He endures it to the best of his ability, making the appropriate noises at the appropriate times, having learned long ago that pretending to enjoy it is key for things to move on quicker.

Once they’re done, the older man rolls off him and out of the bed, going to look for something among his clothes. Greg remains where he is, staring at the ceiling, attempting to keep his mind blank. There was a time when he loved to bask in the warmth of the afterglow, when his body and heart actually felt light and happy and when the beating of his lover’s heart lulled him to sleep, feeling safe and loved. Now though-

Well. Now he doesn’t feel much anything, truth to be told.

Lord Magnussen is now back on the bed and he’s handing him what looks like a small sack of coins. Greg’s pride urges him not to take it (he’s not a whore, after all) but his common sense makes him reach for it. The rent is due in a couple of days and Ellie needs a new uniform, so there’s no point on refusing a _gift._

The Lord smirks, looking horribly smug and Greg’s stomach turns unpleasantly. Any low-born like himself is used to receiving those cocky looks from lords and nobles, but considering what has just happened…

It stings more than what he’d care to admit.

The other man pulls him in for a kiss then and Greg allows it, reminding himself he does need his job and that hitting a lord will land him in a world of trouble with the police. When the other finally pulls away, he smiles tightly before slipping out of the bed, searching for his clothes, eager to leave as soon as he can.

They’re done here.

* * *

 

He takes a quick bath before leaving, although the water is so cold he nearly decides against it. Still, he hates the idea of making his way through the city _reeking_ of bodily fluids and Alpha’s scent. It always makes Ellie angsty and John doesn’t particularly like it either: he might not be emotionally attached to Greg, but Alphas are nothing if not territorial.

He sighs as the cold wind hits him in the face. He toys with the small sack of coins inside the pocket of his coat, wondering if he ought to take a cab. It’s late of course, but he’s not in one of the shadier parts of the city and he’s not quite sure with how much money the Lord has gifted him, so it’d be better to be careful with his expenses.

With that thought in mind he starts walking in the direction of his flat. All in all, the place is centric and rather cosy; he could have never afforded it on his own, but luckily for him he had stumbled into a struggling medicine student (now actual doctor) that was in the desperate need of a flatmate.

He hadn’t been thrilled at the idea of sharing a flat with an Alpha, but John had behaved like a perfect gentleman and he had been really helpful when Ellie was born, so Greg had decided to give it a shot. It’s been 8 years since then and while Greg very much doubts John still needs to share the rent (in fact, he ends up paying Greg’s part more often than not), he won’t hear a word about them leaving.

Greg smiles at the thought, once more reminding himself he has been lucky. An unbounded _pregnant_ Omega could have ended up in all sort of nasty situations and yet here he is; the worst he has to endure is the occasional entitled lord touching him, so all in all-

Distracted as he is, he collides into another passer-by. He tenses immediately, fearful of the stranger’s reaction, especially when a whiff of Alpha scent hits his nose. But he recognizes that smell, he’d recognize it anywhere and-

“Mycroft.” The name escapes his lips breathlessly, his heart picking up speed. It’s been a little over 8 years, but the man looks almost exactly the same. If anything, he has got even more handsome and Greg’s knees still go weak at the sight of the other man.

Mycroft stares at him as if he can’t quite believe his eyes and Greg bites his lip. He knows the wise thing to do would be to run and not look back, like he did all those years ago, but he’s frozen on the spot. Eight years have done nothing to quell his longing and seeing him here…

Shame and something that feels an awful lot like guilt, curl inside his stomach as he remembers what he was doing just half an hour ago. He wonders if Mycroft can smell it, even though he logically knows he shouldn’t. Still-

“Gregory,” the other man finally says, sounding as breathless as Greg himself. His heart skips a beat and he immediately chides himself for his foolishness. It’s been 8 years, he shouldn't-

“I… this is unexpected,” he says, for the lack of anything better to say. “I didn’t… I didn’t expect to meet you here.” He hadn’t, really. The city is so big and so populated Greg had calculated the chances of them running into each other to be practically inexistent. And yet, here they are.

“Neither did I,” Mycroft agrees quietly, eyes soft and sad. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes,” he replies, his heart aching so fiercely he has to look away. “A long while.”

Neither speaks for a long moment and finally Greg gathers his thoughts and reminds himself he needs to go now. “Well… I’ve got to go. It was nice seeing you.”

Mycroft’s hand shots out to stop him and Greg’s breath catches. They stand in silence, holding the other’s gaze and then Mycroft lets go of him slowly, his fingers caressing his wrist lightly and Greg has to bite back a pitiful whimper. “I…” Mycroft begins, his fingers still ghosting over Greg’s wrist, “perhaps you’ll allow me to drive you home? My driver is waiting just around the corner.”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. When he ran away 8 years ago, he had resignated himself to never lay eyes on the love of his life again. Agreeing to go with him, spending time with him…

It’ll end in tragedy. And Greg’s not sure he’s strong enough to survive another one.

“Yes,” he agrees anyway, because his foolish heart will never learn and because the temptation of spending time with the man he loves, no matter how much this love has cost him, is too much for him to resist.

And so it begins again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I’m concerned with the tags (as usual), so please do let me know if you have any special concerns and if there’s something you think I should tag. I tend to have Greg giving himself a lot of pep talk, don’t I? but the situation certainly isn’t good and I should warn you this isn’t going to be very pretty; it's going to be a more angsty fic, so expect quite a bit of that and not-so-good situations. It’ll get better eventually, though.  
> Also, I think the johnlock-plot isn’t going to be as angsty to balance things a bit, but I can’t promise anything (my current idea has Sherlock already married off, but I’m trying to decide if that works with the rest of my plans).  
> Let me know what you thought, pretty please?  
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I hope you’ll enjoy it!

The drive to Gregory’s home is unnervingly quiet and Mycroft squirms in his seat more than a couple of times. It was never like this, not even in the early days of their  _ acquaintance,  _ when Gregory was a little reluctant to actually talk to him and by the end of it…

He holds back a sigh, staring outside the window thoughtfully. He had had so many dreams of a life together and for the most part, he had thought the other man shared them, even if they never quite addressed the issue. Mycroft knew it wouldn’t be easy and that his parents would never approve, but he hadn’t been terribly concerned. Once he finished college and got a job, he’d be free to do as he pleased, expectations be damned.

But then Gregory had left, so abruptly, without even a note to explain his sudden departure…

When he had come home during the holidays to find his lover long gone, he had thought his parents had found out about their relationship and had thrown him out, but Sherlock had explained that the other man had simply left one morning, without informing anyone. He would have believed such explanation to be a lie had it come from anyone other than his brother, but Sherlock had been also very fond of Gregory and he had seemed troubled too.

And now here he is. It’s been a little over 8 years, but it’s like not a single day has passed. Gregory might look older and skinner (he hasn’t been eating well, he can tell), but he’s just as handsome as ever and Mycroft loves him just as much. All the heartbreak and despair he felt after being left without any explanation means nothing, not as long as he can continue staring at him.

He wants to ask. Moreover,  _ he needs to _ . Because he has never gotten closure and no matter how hard he has tried to move on, the doubt still haunts him. Was it something he did, something he said? Or did the other man simply grew tired of him, of having to hide their love? Or, even worse, did he lose hope? Did he think they’d never make it and that it was better to simply leave?

He’d have never thought Gregory cruel, but after leaving him without even a goodbye-

It pained him. And it continues to pain him every day of his life, if he must be honest with himself.

He’s a little surprised they’re seemingly making their way to the center of the city. Mycroft hadn’t been listening when Gregory gave his address to his driver, too distracted by Gregory’s sole presence after years of believing they’d never see each other again, so he has no clue where they’re going. If he’s honest with himself, he must admit he expected the other man to live at the outskirts of the city, where the rents are much lower.

He seems to be doing well by himself. The thought makes something within himself ache and he immediately chides himself. What kind of monster wants the man they love to be struggling and miserable just because he seems to have moved on?

It’s beneath him to be this petty. If Gregory is fine on his own then that’s definitely a good thing.

There’s a chance he’s not by his own, though. He took a discreet peek at his exposed neck earlier and saw no mating bite, but that doesn’t mean much in this time and era. Couples no longer see mating as necessary, settling for a marriage ceremony instead. It might not be as binding, but maybe that’s part of the appeal.

Gregory’s hands are covered by gloves, so he can’t say for sure if he’s wearing a wedding ring, although it doesn’t seem so. And of course there’s a chance he’s living with someone without any wedding vows having been exchanged, although-

He closes his eyes and wills himself to think of something else. It’s a useless and hurtful line of thought; it’s likely that after tonight he’ll never see the man again and so it shouldn’t matter. Then again-

The carriage stops and he gets startled out of his thoughts by the abruptness of it. “We’re here,” Gregory tells him, almost apologetic, not making a move to exit the vehicle. He looks as reluctant to leave as Mycroft is of letting him go, which makes his heart skip a beat. Maybe- “I… thank you for the ride.” He darts for the door then, eyes down and Mycroft reaches for him once more without really thinking about it.

“I… I’d like to see you again,” he confesses, licking his lips in a nervous gesture he has never quite managed to shake off. Gregory’s eyes trace the movement with such intensity that it takes every bit of Mycroft’s self control not to throw caution to the wind and pull the other man into an actual kiss.

Gregory meets his stare, eyes full of sadness and longing. Mycroft had always hoped there was a very good explanation on why Gregory had to leave so suddenly and the look on his face right now seems to reinforce that idea, but he still doesn’t dare to ask.

Gregory looks away first, biting his lip harshly. “I’d like that too,” he says almost reluctantly and hurries out of the carriage before Mycroft can even begin to process what has happened. In the few seconds it takes him to gather his wits about him, Gregory has already made it to one of the buildings and is opening the door, looking at Mycroft’s carriage once more before disappearing inside.

Mycroft stares at the now closed door, wondering how to interpret Gregory’s last words. Should he attempt to visit at a later date or…?

He sighs, knowing he’s going to come back later even if he’s not quite convinced that’s what Gregory meant.

If nothing else, he might finally get the answers he has always wanted.

* * *

 

So distracted by his thoughts, Mycroft doesn’t even notice when the carriage starts moving once more and it’s not until his concerned driver opens the door that he notices they’re back at his home. He thanks the man, who is watching him curiously and hurries inside, telling himself he needs to stop overthinking this.

And yet-

“Well. Someone had a worse night than I, apparently.”

Mycroft closes his eyes, willing himself not to show his worry. His brother’s impromptu visits always signal something has happened, but Sherlock doesn’t take any show of concern well, taking it for pity instead.

“Sherlock,” he greets, expression bland, heading straight for his drink cabinet. He chooses a brandy under his brother’s watchful eye and pours a glass for each before coming to sit next to the younger man. “I thought you’d be out of country for the week.”

Sherlock’s lips curve upwards in an humorless grin. “ _ My dear husband  _ decided it’d be better if he went alone. Some…  _ complication  _ arose, apparently, and he needed to look into it most urgently.” He shrugs, swirling his drink absent mindedly. “I have a little something that might be of your interest, though,” he says, producing a letter from the inside pocket of his waistcoat and Mycroft arches an eyebrow before slipping the letter inside his own inner pocket. One can never be too careful about these things and it’ll be better if he checks it in the privacy of his studio.

His brother smirks briefly before taking a long sip of his drink. When their father had announced he was to be married to Lord Moriarty two years ago, Sherlock had been agast. Mycroft had tried to reason with their father it wasn’t a good idea and that Sherlock had no interest whatsoever in marriage and all things that come with it, but of course it had been for nothing. Their father had very strict ideas of what an Omega of Sherlock’s age should be doing and he would not tolerate any disobedience on the subject.

And so Sherlock had been forced to go through the whole marriage charade. But Sherlock is nothing if not resourceful and so he has learned to make the best of his situation; it’s a well known secret that Lord Moriarty has his hands in all sort of shady business (some more illegal than others) although no one would dare to accuse him, particularly since the man is entirely too good at covering his tracks. Sherlock now has access to a lot of his records, though even if he has had to be extra careful about sneaking documents out of the house, knowing he’d be in great danger if he was to be discovered.

Not that his little brother seems too concerned about that. Knowing him, the danger is probably part of the reason he does it.

“So…” Sherlock says after a long silence, leaning closer to him. “What happened to you?”

Mycroft taps his fingers against the armrest, considering his answer. His brother’s gaze is fixed on him, eagerly picking up any clues that might help him discern the reason of Mycroft’s mood.

“I ran into Gregory,” he confesses, the words leaving his lips in a rush. Sherlock blinks, surprised, before leaning even closer.

“Lestrade? You saw him? Where? What happened?!” the questions follow one another without giving Mycroft any chance to answer and he smiles a little at his brother’s obvious interest. They have a complicated relationship, but they both care for each other and Sherlock had been as supportive as he could back when Mycroft had been too heartbroken to function.

“I was just exiting a meeting,” Mycroft begins explaining. “I had left the building and decided to take a walk around it in an effort to clear my head and… we literally ran into each other.” He smiles sadly before taking a long sip of his drink. 

Sherlock is frowning, still leaning very close. “And then?”

Mycroft shrugs non committedly. “Nothing. I offered to drive him home, he agreed. And that was it.”

“You didn’t talk?” Sherlock demands, standing up abruptly and throwing his hands upwards. “You didn’t even ask what prompted him to leave without any explanation all those years ago?”

Mycroft sighs, staring at the far wall. He knows Sherlock had been hurt by the other man’s sudden departure too; he’d never admit it, but Gregory was his friend and he understood him much better than anyone else ever could, so he has missed him probably as much as Mycroft has.

“No,” he says, closing his eyes in despair. “I wasn’t… I was scared of the answer.”

Sherlock huffs indignantly, dropping himself unceremoniously back on his seat. Mycroft offers him a tired smile which his brother expertly ignores. “Are you going to see him again?” he asks, not looking at him and Mycroft sighs once more.

“Yes,” he murmurs softly. “I need to.”

Sherlock nods, but doesn’t comment, choosing instead to finish his drink with a contemplative look on his face. Mycroft watches him in silence for a beat, unsure of what he can possibly say or do and so he settles for simply staying quiet.

He seems to be doing that too much tonight.

* * *

 

Regardless of whatever Gregory might have meant last night, he probably isn’t expecting Mycroft to show up just a day later and particularly not at such unholy hour. It’s so early the streets are practically empty and he’s grateful he had the good sense not to take his own carriage to arrive here, since it would have dragged a lot of attention.

He’s standing in a alley next to Gregory’s building, where he’s more or less hidden from anyone who might step out of it. He knows he’s being ridiculous, but while he had arrived here with the firm conviction of visiting his ex lover, now that he’s actually here…

The building’s door opens suddenly, an older woman stepping out and Mycroft sighs. A quick glance at his pocket watch tells him that while it’s still early, people will soon start to leave for their jobs and he supposes Gregory might be one of them. He tenses further, unsure if he wants to approach the other man or not. It’d probably be best if-

His thoughts get interrupted when the door opens once more and a small girl steps out. She’s wearing a school uniform and her reddish hair has been pulled into a tight bun. Her profile seems familiar somehow and Mycroft frowns, wondering why she seems so familiar when he notices the man that has stepped out just behind her.

“John, really, there’s no need-”

“No need! You hear that, Ellie? Your father says there’s no need for a special dinner tonight!”

The girl giggles delightedly, hugging Gregory’s waist, earning herself a fond smile from the man and Mycroft’s heart drops to his feet.  _ Her father.  _ Gregory has a daughter.

“John, I-”

“No,” the other man interrupts sharply, but his smile is kind. “I insist. A girl needs a special dinner on her birthday. Maybe even a chocolate cake, huh?”

The girl shrieks excitedly and Gregory sighs, nodding reluctantly as they start making their way towards the street. Mycroft stays frozen on the spot, still trying to process what he has just learned, his heart clenching painfully inside his chest.

He closes his eyes in despair, silently chiding himself for his foolishness.

It’s been 8 years, after all.

Of course Gregory has moved on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I fear this chapter might feel a bit rushed, although I have no idea why I get that feeling :P We were supposed to get a flashback to Mycroft’s and Greg’s earlier days, but it just didn’t work, so I think we’ll see that later ;)  
> I was thinking having next chapter running from Sherlock’s POV but I’m rethinking how I’m going to write it. I think that Sherlock would notice right away Greg’s daughter is also Mycroft’s, since he’s not emotionally compromised and I’m not sure I want that :P  
> Next update might take a while because I might get involved in a project that, if I do it right, might earn me my promised promotion but if I screw up might condemn me to stay at my current position for another 2 years or so (if I’m lucky, if not I might end up without a job at all)  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter!  
> Since I had said this would be my NaNoWriMo project, I intended to write everyday, even if only a few lines. I knew the weekend was going to be tricky because I have to look after my daughter and I feel guilty if I get distracted with my phone while we’re “playing”, but she was staying with my in-laws, so I thought I’d have the chapter finished by sunday.  
> And then I got distracted by food, Thor: Ragnarok, sleep and Stranger Things 2 so… well. I got nothing done during the weekend :P  
> I got most of this chapter written on Monday’s morning, but then I realized I had messed up the continuity big time and had to go back and rewrite half of it and then I got distracted by my actual job so… well. But here we are, finally!  
> Enjoy (hopefully)!

 

The morgue is quiet this early in the morning.

Sherlock smiles to himself as he makes his way through the dark corridors, humming quietly to himself. He’s always on a better mood after spending the night at his brother’s and if someone would have told him so 2 years ago, he’d have thought them crazy.

How quickly things change, don’t they?

His marriage isn’t unhappy, per se. His husband married him out of convenience, not out of any actual desire to have Sherlock as his mate and that has simplified things quite a lot. For the most part his  _ dear husband  _ keeps his hands to himself and has no interest on children, something Sherlock had been more than a tad fearful of, so all in all, it’s not that bad.

It could have been worse, certainly.

But it’s still not ideal. He enjoys his freedom way too much and he’s too curious for his own good, which is a constant sore spot with his husband, who has far too many secrets to keep and that Sherlock is entirely too eager to uncover. Had Lord Moriarty bothered with getting to know him before asking for his hand in marriage, he might have figured getting his hands on Lord Holmes’ business was not worth the hassle.

Too late for that of course. Now they both have to make the best of their situation and in Sherlock’s case, it means he’s determined to bring his husband’s criminal empire to the ground, even if that’s the last thing he does.

He stops outside the one of the examination rooms. He can hear someone rummaging inside and he considers his options. Getting access to the morgue hadn’t been exactly easy: there are still too many people that believe an Omega’s place is back home, looking after their home and their children, but luckily for him, first his father’s name and later his husband’s carry enough influence for most people to be willing to look the other way and let him do as he pleases. Still, he has had some nasty…  _ arguments  _ with a few of the morgue’s workers and he’s not really in the mood for one, so…

Before he can make up his mind though, he recognizes the sound of the steps of the person working inside the room and his face lights up immediately, pleased beyond words. With a bright grin on his face, he throws the door open, regretting it a second later when Dr. Watson lets out a surprised sound, dropping his scalpel, making him curse softly under his breath.

“What-” the other man begins angrily, looking upwards, but all his anger seems to vanish a second later when he sees who’s at the door. “Sherlock! What a surprise! I thought you said you’d be out of the country for a while?”

Sherlock walks in, practically bouncing on his feet, his smile still firmly in place. “Dr. Watson,” he greets pleasantly, coming to stand right in front of the man.

The doctor scowls lightly, but his eyes are alight with good humor. “I really must insist you use my given name. It’s only fair, since you allow me to use yours.”

Sherlock’s smile widens further. It’s not quite proper, he knows, but he’s not really fond of being called Lord Moriarty and so he insists on most people calling him by his name. “John,” he greets then and his companion offers him such a bright smile he can feel his insides turning into goo.

He knows, logically, that this little  _ thing  _ they have going on can’t go anywhere, but he enjoys the other man’s company way too much for his own sake. He tells himself he’ll be content with continuing with these short interactions, but in the long run…

Well, better not to worry about that just yet.

“So, you didn’t leave?” John prompts after a long silence in which they have simply been staring into each other’s eyes, looking away, a soft blush covering his cheeks.

“No, I… something came up,” Sherlock replies, reluctant to mention his husband. He shrugs non committedly, casually leaning closer to the body on the examination table he had practically forgotten all about. “What do we have here?”

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of John’s affectionate look and his stomach flips pleasantly.

Oh, he’s in trouble, isn’t he?

 

* * *

 

Sherlock had never had much interest in romance. In his experience, the subject caused nothing but misery: he had watched his parents’ constant fights and how they both seemed quietly determined to make the other as miserable as possible, and then he had watched how brokenhearted his brother had been after his lover left him without any explanation, so he had determined he’d never subject himself to that particular form of torture.

It seems however, his foolish heart has plans of its own.

He watches the other man work, his attention only halfway on the body on the slab. Solving crimes is a bit of a hobby of his, although he had always had trouble getting the police to actually  _ listen  _ to him. But John does listen and he finds his deductions  _ brilliant _ , something that always pleases Sherlock immensely.

Their hands brush occasionally when they pass each other instruments and Sherlock leans perhaps a little closer than necessary to point out something or watch something John wants to show him. His heart swells with affection at every smart observation John makes or at every praise thrown in his direction. The room is always a bit cold, but Sherlock never notices when he’s with John, always feeling warm and content inside.

He knows it’s a dangerous path and it’s likely it’ll bring him nothing but pain, but he can’t bring himself to care. Whenever John looks at him, his heart sings with joy and the rest of the world matters not.

One day, he might come to regret his foolishness.

But for now, he’s happy.

 

* * *

 

“Are you drunk?” he demands, staring at his brother worriedly. The sight should be funny, he thinks; his proper and prim brother sprawled on the sofa, clothes askew, a mostly empty whisky bottle in his hand, a long abandoned glass on the floor, but the thing is that the image clashes so painfully with everything he knows about his brother that Sherlock can’t help being concerned.

Mycroft slurs something and Sherlock huffs annoyedly, hurrying to his brother’s side and forcing him to sit straight and trying to take away the bottle. The older man protests, not relishing his hold of the bottle, cursing loudly when Sherlock succeeds in prying the item away.

“What the hell?!” Sherlock yells, hands on his hips. His brother stares at him with an empty expression and the younger man grows more worried with each passing second. He knows instinctively that his brother’s current state is somehow related to the events of the previous day, but while Mycroft had seemed deeply moved by his run into his ex lover, there was nothing that suggested…

“A daughter,” his brother slurs and Sherlock frowns, wondering what he’s going on about. Mycroft rolls his eyes dramatically, as if Sherlock is being deliberately dense and then clarifies, “Gregory has a daughter.”

He speaks very slowly, no doubt to make sure Sherlock understands. Mycroft attempts to get the bottle back after that and Sherlock is so shaken by the news that he allows it. Of course it’s been 8 years, so he supposes it’d make sense for Lestrade to have moved on, except-

“Are you certain?” he asks, kneeling on the ground so he can meet the other’s eye.

Mycroft scoffs, taking a long sip from his bottle and then staring at it mournfully after noticing it’s empty. Sherlock sighs, running his fingers through his hair, messing it up. How did this happen?

“Come on,” he murmurs, helping his brother to stand up although he ends up carrying most of his weight. “Let’s get you into bed.” Mycroft attempts to argue, but the words have deserted him and he lets Sherlock drag him across the house, earning themselves a few curious stares from the servants, although they hurry to look away when Sherlock throws a nasty look in their direction.

He drops Mycroft on his bed, the Alpha barely letting out a sound of protest at the rough treatment. He sits on the corner of the bed, watching his brother who’s nearly asleep already and he frowns, trying to make sense of what he has just learned.

It doesn’t make sense, not really.

Determined, he stands up, nodding to himself. He throws one last concerned glance in his brother’s direction and determines to have a servant check on him every half hour or so.

As for himself, he has an investigation to conduct.

 

* * *

 

His brother’s driver merely arches an eyebrow when Sherlock asks to be driven to the address where they dropped Mycroft’s…  _ acquaintance _ the night before. To the older Holmes’ credit, he certainly knows how to pick his employees and Sherlock supposes it’s quite useful considering his brother’s…  _ work.  _

He stands outside the building, watching it closely. The place is centric and it seems to be fairly good sized. Nothing a single parent could afford on their own, certainly, although based on his brother’s despair, he doubts Lestrade is single. He taps his chin thoughtfully, thinking this mystery grows more interesting by the minute.

The door opens and an older woman steps out. Sherlock approaches her hurriedly, before the door can close behind her and offers her his most charming smile. The woman doesn’t smile back, though, watching him warily instead, looking ready to flee at any given minute.

“Good afternoon,” he greets politely, “I’m looking for a friend of mine, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his flat’s number.” He continues smiling, but the woman looks even more wary now and Sherlock wonders if he should have changed before coming here. It’s easy to tell by his clothes he comes from a rich family and while the neighborhood is nice enough, it’s definitely not wealthy.

“What’s your friend’s name?” the woman asks slowly, her eyes narrowed and Sherlock forces himself to keep his pleasant smile despite his growing annoyance.

“Lestrade,” he replies easily and the woman’s eye fill with pity right away, making an unpleasant shiver run down Sherlock’s spine. Why-?

But his musings get interrupted by someone calling his name from behind him and he turns around, having recognized the voice. Lestrade looks pretty much the same, if a bit skinnier and Sherlock can’t quite contain the smile that comes unbidden to his lips at the sight of his old friend. 

“Sherlock!” Lestrade exclaims, pulling him into a tight hug right away. Behind him, Sherlock can feel the old neighbor relaxing and so he briefly wonders once more what had she thought of his words, but the thought gets promptly pushed to the back of his mind, to focus on the present. “It’s been ages!” the older man continues, his hands still clasped on Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock doesn’t really like having people touching him, but there’s something quite comforting about the other man’s touch. Sherlock had a lonely childhood, with no friends among his peers; his brother too old and too serious to play with him, his parents uninterested in spending time with him, the children of the servants too wary of the Holmes youngest heir. And then Lestrade had come along and while Sherlock had never quite dared to use his name, not even inside his head, afraid his parents would notice and take it badly, he had been quite close to the older Omega.

In many ways, he supposes he’s what brought him and his brother together in the first place.

“Papa?” a child’s voice calls from behind them and Sherlock notices the way Lestrade’s back goes rigid at the sound, a panicked look crossing his face before he quickly turns away.

“Sorry, sweetpea,” the older man says softly, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder, chewing on his lip worriedly before turning to Sherlock once more. “This is an old friend of mine,” he says, prompting the girl to approach him.

Sherlock watches the girl in silence as she comes closer to him. Her eyes betray her wariness, but she approaches him with a confident smile on her lips, holding her hand out for him to shake. Her hold is strong and self assured and Sherlock can’t help to smile genuinely at her. “Eleanor Lestrade,” she introduces herself, holding his gaze. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Hello, Eleanor. I’m Sherlock.” The girl nods before stepping back, somehow placing herself behind her father without looking like she’s hiding. Lestrade places a hand on top of her head affectionately and the girl smiles brightly at him.

Sherlock watches the exchange in silence, still looking at the child closely. She has Lestrade’s kind chocolate eyes, but there’s something about her aristocratic nose-

“Do you… do you want to come inside?” Lestrade asks reluctantly, evidently hoping Sherlock will say no, although they both know that won’t be the case.

“Yes, please.”

With a defeated sigh, Lestrade pushes past him and opens the door, his daughter rushing past him and upstairs and Sherlock follows, his eyes locking with his friend’s one last time before he starts climbing the stairs, his mind quickly putting two and two together.

Well. What a nice mess he has walked into.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock sits at one of the small uncomfortable chairs by the fireplace, observing the scene taking place in front of him. Lestrade is preparing dinner; something that smells delicious and by Eleanor's enthusiasm, a favorite of hers. The girl is sitting at the kitchen table, a bunch of papers spread in front of her, her school bag on the floor. She keeps sending eager looks in her father’s direction and then promptly turning her attention back to her papers whenever Lestrade catches her at it.

It’s a well rehearsed dance, a scene that has played out endless times and Sherlock feels somehow as an intruder. Still, he can’t bring himself to leave, not yet, not without having some very needed answers.

Lestrade occasionally looks in his direction, expression sad but resigned. Eventually Sherlock stands up, never having been who can actually sit still for long and decides to entertain himself by looking around the flat. Lestrade watches him from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t comment while Eleanor decides whatever he’s doing is more interesting than her school work, judging by the way her eyes eagerly follow his movements.

The flat is decently sized, with two bedrooms, a living room, a small bathroom and the kitchen. There are traces of a third inhabitant here and there, an Alpha judging by the lingering scent, which probably explains how Lestrade can afford the place. If they’re romantically involved is a little harder to tell, although a quick peek inside the main room seems to suggest they’re not.

He looks at Eleanor speculatively, wondering what Lestrade has told her about her other parent. It’s obvious she adores her father, but surely she must have questions about her Alpha; it’s just normal, isn’t it? Children question these type of things, don’t they?

The front door opens then and Eleanor is out of her seat a second later, rushing towards the door and latching herself at the newcomer’s waist. The man laughs, a soft pleasant sound Sherlock finds entirely too familiar and that makes him wonder if there’s really such a thing as destiny.

“Hello, Ellie,” John greets, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of the girl’s head. “Someone’s happy to see me.”

“You’ve brought chocolate cake,” Lestrade points out from the kitchen, still busy with supper. “Of course she’s happy to see you.”

John pouts and Eleanor laughs, burying her face in the man’s stomach. John still hasn’t noticed Sherlock, who’s frozen on the spot, watching him with a surprised expression.

“We’ve got a visitor!” Eleanor exclaims happily, bouncing on her feet and pulling John towards the living room. Sherlock is still somewhat hidden in the dark corner of the room, but he steps forward then, his heart doing the usual happy dance it does when he sees John, even if the circumstances are… curious, to say at least.

“Oh, right,” Lestrade says, coming out of the kitchen. “John, this is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

John looks at him then, expression disbelieving, mouth opening and closing as a fish out of the water. “Oh,” he says finally, not moving from where he’s standing. “I… didn’t make the connection. I mean, it’s not a common name, of course, but-”

Lestrade opens his mouth, probably to ask what John means and Sherlock decides to intervene. “We know each other,” he explains and at Lestrade’s betrayed expression, he hurries to explain. “He knows me by my married name, though.”

“Ma- What? When did that happen?” Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically and Lestrade blushes. “Right. Not important. Right.” He shakes his head, a humorless smile on his lips. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

It is, indeed. Much smaller than Sherlock ever thought.

A tense silence descends upon them, making them all squirm uncomfortably. A well timed demand for dinner on Eleanor’s part breaks the tension, if only momentarily and Sherlock follows Lestrade and his daughter to the table while John quickly retreats to his bedroom.

This night is full of surprises, really.

 

* * *

 

Despite the rocky beginning, dinner is a pleasant affair, even if Eleanor conducts most of the conversation, apparently intuitively knowing which subjects to avoid. It’s clear she’s very clever and very perceptive, reminding Sherlock an awful lot of his brother.

If he had his doubts before, he’s mostly certain by now.

And then, when Lestrade brings out the cake, he gets the final confirmation he needs. “Say, Eleanor, how old are you?”

“I turned 8 today,” she declares proudly, puffing out her chest, smile bright. 

Well, that’s one mystery solved.

 

* * *

 

Not an hour later, Lestrade declares it’s time for bed and Eleanor makes a half attempt of protesting but hurries to do as she’s told when she’s promised a bedtime story. Sherlock, who was always fond of Lestrade’s bedtime stories (even if they were a little too overly romantic), can relate.

He sits at the living room, sipping tea, watching John puttering around the kitchen, putting stuff away. He looks terribly soft like this, in his pajamas and sleep robe, his feet bare, humming softly to himself as he cleans up and something inside Sherlock aches fiercely at the thought that all he’ll ever get of this type of domestic life are stolen glances.

He was never interested in romance and the promised domestic bliss it brought, but if he had ever fantasized about it- well, he supposes his dreamt life would have looked a lot like this.

John looks at him over his shoulder, a sad soft smile on his lips and he wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

Just then Lestrade steps out of his and Eleanor’s shared bedroom, looking like a man heading towards his execution.

Dramatic, isn’t he?

“I suppose you have many questions,” Lestrade says, stepping closer, hands clasped behind his back, expression haunted but holding Sherlock’s stare steadily.

“Indeed,” he agrees slowly, standing up slowly. He’s not sure it’s really his place to be asking for explanations, but he is curious and he supposes he might as well, considering he doesn’t think his brother is fit to be having this conversation at all.

But boy, it’s going to be awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I think I could have written another 2 scenes (or maybe 3) but this chapter was getting ridiculously long, so… well, I figured it was better to end it here :P I hope it was enjoyable, though!  
> I’m hoping to have the next chapter ready soon, although I can’t promise anything since I really need to work on getting that promotion (considering my very very questionable financial decisions, I desperately need it). I shall do my best, though!  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… this. I wasn’t planning on updating today (didn’t think I’d have the time) but this is just a short interlude between chapters because I walked myself into a corner. I think I should probably have let the conversation take place in the previous chapter, where the POV would have fit a bit better since this one was supposed to run from John’s POV so I struggled a lot with the beginning of this chapter. In the end, I decided it wasn’t working, so I scratched it all and started with a different POV :P I’m not particularly thrilled with that decision, but it works and I kept it very short because I just needed to write that damned conversation so… well.  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it. If nothing else, it sheds some light on what’s going on, although not as much as I would have wanted but it certainly makes a few things clear.

It’s so quiet outside the room that Ellie worries the adults have decided to have their conversation elsewhere. Of course she didn’t hear the front door opening and she very much doubts Papa would actually leave her alone in the flat, but she supposes it’s a possibility. It’s very evident it’s an  _ adult’s  _ conversation, one she’s not supposed to hear and maybe she’s not as good as feigning sleep as she thought.

She bites her lip thoughtfully, wondering if she can risk taking a quick peek into the living room. She’s usually a very obedient girl and if Papa doesn’t want her to know something, she usually accepts the secrecy without protest, but not in this case, not when the answers to so many of her questions are at stake.

She might just be 8 years old, but she’s awfully clever (Papa always says) and quite intuitive. Judging by Papa’s pleased smile at the sight of their visitor (Sherlock Holmes, he said), it’s clear he’s really an old friend of his. The fact that the man also happens to be rich (easy to tell by his clothes alone, but even if he had been wearing something else she could have told by his elegant manners and his posh accent), has lead her to believe he might be the younger heir of the Lord her Papa used to work for. She would have been curious enough about the man by these simple facts, but due the curious looks the man kept sending in her direction and Papa’s growing tension, she has deduced the man might know something about her other parent.

It’s quite a leap, actually, but she does think her logic holds and she’s hoping she’ll be proven right. After all, what would they have to discuss with so much secrecy if not that?

“She’s Mycroft’s, isn’t she?”

The sound of Sherlock’s voice comes so unexpectedly that it makes her jump and she immediately chides herself. It wouldn’t do for her to be discovered, not now that the adults are finally going to start talking.

_ Mycroft,  _ she repeats quietly to herself, making sure to file the name away for later. A friend of Sherlock’s? He sounds angry for some reason, or maybe just frustrated and Ellie wishes she could see his expression. She hesitates, her hand on the door, ready to push it and then she decides it’s not worth the risk. Better to just listen.

“Yes,” Papa says, his voice so low she can barely hear him. “You can’t tell him,” he adds quickly and Ellie nods to herself. Yes, she had thought as much: her other father doesn’t even know she exists.

There’s a pause in which she assumes they’re waiting for Sherlock’s agreement, but it doesn’t come. “That’s why you left so abruptly. You didn’t want anyone to know you were pregnant,” Sherlock says instead.

“Yes,” Papa murmurs once more, sounding awfully sad and Ellie’s heart aches for him. She knows it hasn’t been easy for Papa to raise her on his own and he often looks sad when he thinks she can’t see him. 

There’s another pause, lengthier than the previous one and she presses her ear against the door, worried they’re talking too low for her to hear.

“Why?” Sherlock asks finally. “Did you think- what did you think Mycroft would do? Surely you knew he’d have been  _ thrilled  _ at the news. Why, he’d have dropped everything-”

“I know!” Papa exclaims loudly, so loudly she would have heard him even if she had really been asleep. “I know,” he repeats, quieter. “That’s why I couldn’t tell him.”

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock says, echoing Ellie’s thoughts.

Papa sighs dejectedly and she can hear him start pacing. “I couldn’t ask him to give up everything. He’s a Lord and I’m just… I just... It wouldn’t have been right.”

“So breaking his heart was a better option?”

“Yes, if it saved him of making a foolish decision,” Papa argues darkly. “It wasn’t worth it.”

“You weren’t worth it? Your daughter wasn’t worth it?”

“No, I- I mean- It’s just, we’d either have costed him everything or we’d have been turned into a bargain chip and I don’t- I couldn’t- I thought it was better for everyone if I just left.”

It doesn’t make much sense to her and judging by Sherlock’s scoff, neither does it to him. “And you say you don’t want me to tell him.”

“No,” Papa agrees quietly.

“It’s not right,” Sherlock says very slowly. “He has a right to know. She’s his daughter too.” A pause. “But I suppose that if someone is going to tell him, it should be you.” Another pause, this one filled with tension. “You must tell him.”

“What’s the use-?”

“He knows you have a daughter. He just doesn’t know she’s his too.”

“What? How?!”

“I’m not sure,” Sherlock murmurs. “He wasn’t in any state to have a proper conversation, so I only got the basics.”

“Wha-”

“He was attempting to drink his pain away just a few hours ago,” Sherlock explains, sounding slightly disgusted. “I left him to sleep it off and decided to come here, looking for answers.”

Papa sighs, a sound full of despair. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Sherlock huffs, evidently annoyed and she hears the door being thrown open. “I can not tell you what to do,” Sherlock sentences darkly. “I suppose it’s your prerogative when and where to tell Mycroft the truth, but I fully expect you to do it eventually. It’s only right.”

And with that the door gets slammed close. Ellie blinks, startled by the sound and then it takes every bit of her self control not to run out of the bedroom and into her father’s arms when she hears his quiet sob.

Poor Papa.

Sherlock might be right, she thinks, but there’s no need to be rude. She doesn’t understand Papa’s reasons to keep her existence a secret from her other father, but she knows he wouldn’t cause anyone pain if it could be helped.

She listens to John talking to Papa in quiet tones, consoling him and she chews her lip guiltily. She has the answers (or at least some of them) she wanted, but she can’t stand her father’s anguish. Maybe-

But no. He’ll be mad if he finds out she has heard their conversation and it’ll probably only make him feel worse, so it’s better if she goes back to bed and this time she actually goes to sleep.

As for her own feelings in the light of tonight’s revelations… well, they can wait.

Tomorrow will be another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> It’s short, I know and we don’t really learn a lot, but I do think I needed to write that conversation. I considered leaving it implicit, but I do believe this works better. I hope next chapter will flow much better after this ;)  
> Let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that? Another chapter already! But well, you know me, when inspiration strikes… although I do promise I’ll go back to my other unfinished WIPs soon ;) Also, my boss has been a very busy man this last week which meant I had a ridiculous amount of free time despite the special task I was given so… well.  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it!

“You look thoughtful.”

John hums absentmindedly, gaze fixed on some point in the far wall. Greg is standing by the window, smoking, gazing at the people passing by although he doubts there are that many by now. They’ve both have been in the same position ever since Sherlock left nearly two hours ago, both lost in their own thoughts.

“Are you worried Sherlock will tell his brother about…?” he trails off, casting a quick glance in the direction of the bedroom’s closed door.

Greg takes a long drag of his pipe before shrugging casually. “Not really. If Sherlock says he won’t do something, you can usually trust he won’t. On the other hand, if he has decided to do something, there’s nothing you can do or say to stop him.” A fond smile comes unbidden to his lips, no doubt remembering some memory of long ago and John finds himself smiling too.

“Yeah, he seems like the type,” he whispers quietly, leaning back on his seat. The chair is terribly uncomfortable and his back will be protesting tomorrow morning, no doubt, but despite how tired he feels, he knows he won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

Greg is watching him with a contemplative expression on his face, as if he wants to say something but he doesn’t quite dare. John can imagine what he’s thinking and he really doesn’t want to have that conversation.

He knows he’s being a fool, but he can’t help himself. 

Better move the conversation away from his own issues. “I have to say I never quite believed your tale,” he says, earning himself an indignant look. “It’s not… I mean…” he waves a hand vaguely, rethinking his statement, wishing he stopped to think before talking more often. “What I meant is, that’s not the way this type of things go.”

Greg chuckles humorlessly, taking a long drag of his pipe again and releasing the smoke very slowly. “You thought I had been taken advantage of,” he says, staring at the ceiling. 

“Yes,” John admits with an embarrassed smile. It made more sense that way, really: John has seen far too many Omegas that had been promised all sort of things by the lords and ladies they served, only to be discarded once their masters had tired of them. If they were particularly lucky, they only got their heartbreak to show for their ill advice romance, when not-

Well.  

Greg nods thoughtfully, putting his pipe out and coming to sit next to him. “I loved him so bloody much, John,” he says dejectedly, the saddest smile he has ever seen on his lips. “But I couldn’t stay. It was too risky.” He sighs, leaning back on his seat and staring at the ceiling once more. 

John nods slowly, considering his next words. “What were you hoping would happen, anyway?” he asks and Greg turns to look at him sharply. “You always knew the romance was doomed, why did you-”

He interrupts himself as an horrible humorless laugh scapes Greg’s lips. “Yes, I knew it couldn’t possibly end well, but I…” He shakes his head, expression solemn once more. “Feelings are rarely logical.”

Boy, doesn’t John know it. Still- “What are you going to do? Are you… are you going to tell him about Ellie?”

Greg bites his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I should, especially after what Sherlock has told me tonight but I…” He turns away, eyes closed. “Nothing has changed. He still is… and I’m just…” He waves a hand vaguely, utter despair written all over his face. “Nothing has changed.”

Well, that much is true. “We’ll figure out something,” John promises, standing up and patting Greg’s shoulder. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

Greg nods absentmindedly, gaze lost and John sighs before retreating to his bedroom, knowing there’s nothing he can say or do that will make things easier on his friend. When the past catches up with you, there are only two options: either you start running again or you finally face it.

Only time will tell what Greg will choose.

* * *

 

Working at the morgue is usually quiet. He rarely has to deal with the police himself, leaving that particular task to his supervisor and contenting himself with writing his reports with as many details as possible. Every now and then a Detective will ask to speak with him, if the case is being particularly tricky but for the most part he just has to deal with the dead.

It’s better that way, he thinks. The dead don’t have nasty personalities to worry about and don’t ask uncomfortable questions John doesn’t want to answer.

He shakes his head, not wanting to think about why he dislikes the living so much sometimes and he lets his mind wander as he continues with his job, going over what happened last night. He’s worried about Greg, naturally. They’ve been living together for a little over 8 years and he likes to think they’ve been friends for almost as long. And there’s of course Ellie, who he loves almost as much as if she really was his niece. Not daughter, because he’s never been the paternal type and he prefers to keep his distance somehow.

_ Trust issues,  _ Mary used to say and that was the reason she quoted when she divorced him. They had met when they both were very young and things had progressed way too quickly, their marriage’s fall out had been inevitable. And Mary was not one to endure being unhappy just to avoid scandal, so of course she had asked for a divorce. And John, while not so fond of the idea of being the talk of the neighborhood, had agreed because he really couldn’t stand living with her another minute.

He had thought that particular mess had cured him of foolish notions about  _ love _ and  _ happily ever afters _ , but it’s clear he’s still a hopeless romantic.

And maybe he’s even a bigger fool than he originally thought. Mary might not have been the right one for him, but at least she was from his same social class and  _ single _ , while the new object of his affections is not only completely out of his league, he also happens to be married to one of the richest and most influential, not to mention  _ dangerous  _ Lords in all England. 

He’s asking for trouble. All sorts of nasty trouble.

Seeing Sherlock last night at his own home had affected him in ways he has avoided thinking about by focusing on his friend’s problems. He knows it’s just a distractor and that eventually he’ll go back to thinking about his own issues but for now-

For now it’s better to continue thinking about something else.

Literally anything else.

* * *

 

_ Feelings are rarely logical,  _ Greg had said last night and John has to admit, at least to himself, that he’s awfully familiar with how illogical feelings can be.

Sherlock is examining something in the microscope, his full attention on the slide he’s looking at, expression rapt. The longing John can feel deep in his bones is physically painful, the urge to reach out for the other man almost overwhelming. He thinks there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to be able to go stand behind his companion and wrap his arms around him. He imagines Sherlock would tense, startled by the contact and then he’d relax into the embrace before forgetting all about whatever he’s examining and turning in John’s arms so they can kiss leisurely.

God, even entertaining the thought is downright suicidal and yet-

He forces himself to think of Harry and all those late night conversations they had in which he attempted to make her see reason: the woman she was madly in love with might love her back, but she was married and while that fact remained, it was better if she forgot all about that ill advised romance.

But had Harry listened? Of course not. And now she’s long dead and John doesn’t really want to follow her steps, but there’s something about Sherlock that makes him forgo all logic, all reason and-

Yes, he’s beginning to understand why Harry would never listen.

“Is everything quite alright?” Sherlock asks, half turning to him, one eyebrow raised. John stares at him and realizes he can’t answer because he has stopped breathing, so he takes a deep breath instead of talking. Sherlock smirks, fully turning to him and it takes every bit of John’s self control not to throw himself at the other man.

Sherlock must see something in his eyes, for his smirk drops and a more thoughtful expression comes to his face. He looks away, looking embarrassed somehow, chewing on his lip guiltily. 

“I need to go,” Sherlock announces, going to pick up his coat. “I- I’ll see you later.” He disappears through the door so quickly that John doesn’t have a chance to even utter a word. He hesitates between following him or staying, but in the end his good sense wins the battle. What would he accomplish by following him, anyway?

What a mess.

* * *

 

“What are you doing here?” the words leave his lips without thought, so he cringes a bit at his harsh tone. Sherlock flinches almost imperceptibly, but recovers quickly, putting on his best false smile. John sighs, never having liked that particular smile since it’s the one Sherlock uses with the rest of the world but with him-

Well.

“I’ve brought a little something for the birthday girl,” he announces, producing a big box from behind him that Ellie eyes with open interest. “Terribly rude of me to show up at a birthday party uninvited and with no gift.”

Ellie giggles delightedly as she takes the box from Sherlock’s hands and pushes past them in the direction of the flat. John sighs, letting Sherlock go in first and then following after him.

A mistake, evidently, considering he can’t keep his eyes away from the man’s posterior, which is quite a sight despite the fact he’s wearing his coat.

God, what’s wrong with him?

Ellie is already trying to pry the box open and John rolls his eyes good naturedly as he opens the door. The girl hurries inside, running towards her bedroom and John shakes his head fondly before gesturing for Sherlock to take a seat.

“Where’s Lestrade?” Sherlock asks while John putters around the kitchen, figuring making tea will buy him some time.

“Work,” John answers calmly as he puts on the kettle. “He usually works late on Friday, so I usually pick Ellie at school.” A delighted squeal coming from the bedroom tells him Ellie did like her gift and he turns to offer Sherlock a bright smile which proves to be another mistake, since the man smiles back just as brightly.

He needs to get a grip on himself.

“What did you get her?” he asks, turning his attention back to the tea despite knowing there’s no real need for him to do so. It’ll be a while before the water boils and technically he could join Sherlock at the living room, but he figures this is better. Safer.

“Some drawing materials,” Sherlock replies easily. “I noticed she seems to like to draw.”

John smiles fondly; Ellie is normally tidy, but she does have a tendency to leave her drawings laying around, no matter how many times Greg or himself remind her to put them away.

“She’s my niece,” Sherlock says after a brief silence and John jumps, not having noticed when he came to stand so close to him. “I wanted to bring her a ridiculous amount of stuff but I thought Lestrade wouldn’t appreciate that.”

John takes a cautionary step sideways, angling his body away from Sherlock. “He wouldn’t,” he agrees and gulps visibly when he notices how intently the other man is staring at him. “I-”

Sherlock steps back, shaking his head. He licks his lips nervously and John follows the movement eagerly, longing to close the distance between them and press his lips to his companion’s.

“I can’t stay long,” Sherlock murmurs, not meeting his eye. “I’ve got a telegram from my husband, informing me he’s coming back a bit earlier than expected. I need to head back home.”

The unpleasant reminder that Sherlock isn’t a free man feels like a slap on the face but John nods. “Yes, of course. I’ll tell Greg you dropped by.”

Sherlock nods slowly and takes another step away reluctantly. “I- I didn’t- I didn’t want to marry,” he says suddenly, in a rush and while John had assumed as much, it still feels like a huge revelation. “I do not care for my husband, nor does he care for me, but I wasn’t given any other choice. If… if I could-”

“Don’t say it,” John interrupts, because there are things better left unsaid and he doesn’t think he could cope with the knowledge that the feeling is mutual, but they can’t do anything about it.

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest but seems to think better of it and he closes it immediately. He nods to himself, expression blank once more and he turns around sharply, exiting the flat shortly after.

John stands where he is, bitting on his lip viciously. Things are quickly spiraling out of control, much more quicker than he originally thought they would. But then, he supposes, he should have stepped back the second he noticed there was a chance things would get out of control and now-

Now is too late, isn’t it?

“You really like him, don’t you?” Ellie asks, having come to stand by the kitchen’s entrance, looking at him sadly and John can’t help to huff in annoyance. Ellie doesn’t seem to mind it though, “what are you going to do?”

He chuckles humorlessly, because he honestly doesn’t know. He shrugs non committedly and Ellie nods to herself, turning around and heading towards the living room, “I think he likes you too very much. It could be a good thing.”

John sighs.

If only it was that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I actually had written a short scene that would have fitted between the scene in chapter 3 where we see John & Sherlock interact for the first time and when they see each other at the flat, but I thought it threw off my timing a bit, so I had to let go of it. I haven’t convinced myself from erasing it completely, because I do like it, but I’m afraid it won’t be part of the actual fic…  
> Let me know what you thought? There are parts where the pacing feels funny to me, but maybe that’s just my tendency to overanalyze everything ;) Also, I’ve found it’s a bit harder for me to write some johnlock for some reason, so I worry it shows :P  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope I’ll get another update ready as quickly as these last two, but only time will tell ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It took me longer than I thought and I struggled with it a bit more than I thought I would but well… here it is and that’s what matters ;)  
> Enjoy!

Greg forces himself to swallow the bitter liquid despite the fact it makes him want to throw up. He takes a couple of deep breaths afterwards, trying to quell the urge to puke and then hurries to drink some coffee, hoping to chase the taste away although past experience tells him it’s of little use: the taste will linger in his mouth for the rest of the day, making him vaguely nauseous.

Still, he thinks it’s a small price to pay to avoid pregnancy.

Contraceptives are technically illegal, so he realizes he’s been lucky enough to find a chemist willing to sell him the mix. In John’s medical opinion it’s not ideal and it’s likely the contents will have long term consequences, but Greg can’t bring himself to care overly much: it’s not like he can afford to have another child and it’s not like he’d like to in any case, so-

It’s the best option, really.

He gazes outside the window absentmindedly, finishing his coffee in a couple more of sips. A quick glance at his pocket watch tells him is nearly time to wake Ellie up and he sighs, placing the empty cup on the sink. He turns around when he hears John walk into the kitchen, dragging his feet and he suppresses a sigh.

“Rough night?” he finds himself asking and the other huffs. Greg offers him a small sad smile, knowing anything he could say won’t be appreciated and besides, John knows it already: this little  _ infatuation  _ of his won’t end well.

Greg would know about that. Although of course, he had been even more far gone than his friend currently is. Then again, he and Mycroft had been both unmarried back then so he supposes their situation might not have been as risky as John and Sherlock’s is.

Then again-

“How are you feeling?” John asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee before dropping himself on one of the chairs, eyes closed. “God, my head is killing me.”

Greg’s lips curve upwards briefly. “You shouldn’t have drunk quite as much.”

John makes a face, taking a long sip of his drink. “You’re probably right. And to think I’ve got work to do today…” he murmurs, eyes glazed over. They stay in silence for a while and then John turns to look at him, expression intent once more. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoided my question.”

Greg huffs, amused and shrugs when John continues watching him closely. “Well enough, all things considered.” He eyes the now empty vial that contained his contraceptive and sighs. “You know Heats always make me antsy and with everything that’s going on...”

John hums thoughtfully, watching him funnily. “Any special plans for the occasion?”

Greg sends a withering look in his direction and John smiles ruefully before shrugging. Most doctors agree it’s not exactly healthy for Omegas to go through Heats on their own, so John had offered, from the very beginning, to conveniently disappear if Greg wanted to bring someone over and he would take Ellie with him, of course. But Greg has never seen it fit to take him up on his offer and with good reason, he thinks: he can barely endure someone else’s touch while he’s perfectly coherent, he’s not sure how he’ll react during a Heat. Regardless of whatever the literature on the subject might say, while a Heat is not necessarily comfortable and he does find himself constantly  _ craving  _ physical contact, it doesn’t get to the point where anyone would do. Besides, he finds it unacceptably risky allowing any stranger that close to him when he’s that vulnerable.

“Greg, I think-” John begins and promptly interrupts himself when they hear the bedroom door opening. The doctor sighs, concentrating on finishing his coffee while Greg turns to greet his daughter, a smile already plastered on his face, glad he’s been spared of yet another uncomfortable conversation.

He has a good idea of what John thinks.

But the thing is, he doesn’t understand.

* * *

 

There are parts of the job that are so monotonous that Greg could practically do them in his sleep. He lets his mind wander during these occasions, usually making numbers inside his head about his own bills to pay, but ever since he ran into Mycroft a little over a week ago, his mind keeps wandering down more dangerous paths.

It’s all well and good to allow himself to replay the nicer memories of their short affair when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic, but he knows better than to let himself dwell in the memories for long: it’s an exercise in self torture. And yet-

Damn his masochist streak.

* * *

 

He had started working at the Holmes Manor shortly after his fourteenth birthday; his mother had passed away just a week earlier and while a part of him wanted nothing more than to lie down and never move again, his common sense had informed him he needed a job if he wanted to continue eating. A kind elderly neighbor had taken pity on him and had brought him along to her own job, where she had introduced him to the housekeeper who had agreed to give him a chance.

He spent most of his time working at the stables, which was hard but quiet work. He interacted little with the other servants and even less with the Master of the house or his family which, he was told, was a blessing. 

And then he had met Sherlock. The young heir spent more time trying to escape his tutors than actually studying, something that Greg couldn’t understand. His mother had thought him to read, but that accounted for all his education and to think this young boy wasted the chance-

But then, of course, Sherlock’s family could afford him wasting said chance.

However, it was obvious to anyone who wanted to see, that the child was simply lonely and he acted rebelliously on a desperate attempt to get his parents’ attention. He was bright, probably much brighter than anyone imagined and desperate for affection he wasn’t sure how to obtain, so he acted out, behaving badly and being horribly rude. Greg saw past his mask though and so they had become sort of friends despite the age difference.

While Sherlock didn’t understand Greg’s interest in studying (since he find it all so dull), he had offered to tutor him. It was weird, because he was a child and had very little patience, but Greg had been thankful anyway. Sherlock would sneak out of the house late at night and meet Greg outside the stables for a little while, before they both returned to their respective quarters to actually get some sleep. While it made Greg constantly tired, he figured it was a fair price to pay.

And then, one night, Mycroft had come looking for his brother. Greg had been terrified of what the oldest heir would say or do, but things had gone pretty well, actually. Mycroft had taken over the tutoring (he had much more patience, to say at least) and they had stricken a tentative friendship of their own. They were roughly the same age and it was clear as water that Mycroft was as lonely as his younger brother so…

He should have known it couldn’t possibly end well. But then, in Greg’s defense, he had only been 15.

* * *

 

Greg taps his fingers against his desk distractedly, considering the documents he has allegedly finished. While it’s true he can do most of his work in his sleep, it’s also true he can’t afford to make any mistakes. Mr. Smith has no patience for them and the last thing he needs it to get an earful from his boss, so…

He glances at his pocket watch and decides he can take a short smoke break. His trip down memory lane has left him feeling despondent and he’s in no mood to do any further paperwork, so the best he can do is take a few minutes to himself. A quick look around confirms none of his co workers is paying him any mind and so he hurries out of the office.

It’s a cold day outside and he curses quietly. He only owns a coat and it’s quickly approaching the end of its days. He still has some money from Lord Magnussen’s  _ gift,  _ so maybe-

But even before the idea forms fully inside his head, he has already dismissed it. Any spare money he has usually goes to clothes for Ellie: she grows entirely too fast and she needs them more. There’s also her school books to consider, not to mention the food and-

He sighs, leaning back against the wall. Raising a child on his own isn’t easy, despite all the help he does get from John. He thinks of the only memento he has of his relationship with Mycroft: a ruby ring that’s probably worth a small fortune and that he considered selling just once. He doesn’t think it’s particularly wise to keep it and he could certainly use the money but…

Well. His sentimentalism does occasionally get the best of him.

Sentimentalism was what got him to keep Ellie in the first place, after all. He had briefly entertained the idea of getting an abortion and be done with it, but the mere idea had horrified him and so he had ran away instead. Not necessarily the best move, particularly not financially wise, but it seemed like the best idea at the time.

He thinks of what Sherlock said and he bites his lip thoughtfully. It’s Mycroft’s right to know he sired a child, he supposes, but the knowledge won’t be of any use to him and it could be potentially quite harmful. Isn’t that why he left all those years ago? Nothing has changed, not really and so-

What’s the use?

And yet, he supposes he must, eventually. It’s unlikely Sherlock will keep the secret forever more and even if he was inclined to do so, Mycroft will eventually suspect something. Sherlock’s visits have become a permanent fixture and it’s only a matter of time before his brother starts asking questions. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore his growing migraine. He takes out his pipe, but just toys with it for a while, lost in his thoughts. God, how did he get himself in this ridiculous mess?

He knows exactly how.

And, the real problem is, he’s not sure he’d change a thing if he could.

* * *

 

It had started during a New Year’s party.

Or rather, it had started 2 weeks before it. He and Mycroft had been in one of their usual tutoring sessions, although in truth they had been simply chatting amicably instead of studying and suddenly Mycroft had leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his lips.

Startled, it had taken Greg a bit to react but when he had, he had reacted most enthusiastically. He remembers quite clearly he had ended up lying flat on his back in the field behind the house’s grounds, where they used to meet, hands practically clawing at his companion’s back. He had felt completely elated and, for a long while, he had forgotten why he had been trying to convince himself his little _ infatuation _ was a bad idea.

But eventually his common sense had kicked in, as it usually did and he had pulled away. He thinks that’s the moment when he really fell it love: when he told Mycroft to stop and the other did. It’s perhaps a tad silly, but considering their positions, it would have been entirely too easy for his companion to carry on. It’s not like Greg would have resisted (much) and in any case, it’s not like it would have mattered at all: most of the Omega servants could tell you a story (or several) of Lord Holmes getting a little (or a lot) handsy with them.

But Mycroft had pulled away and apologised and so had Greg, because while he desperately wanted it, he knew nothing good could possibly come of it. Although he didn’t think Mycroft quite agreed with his point of view, he had let the matter go and respected Greg’s choice.

And then the New Year’s party had happened.

Every Lord with an Omega child in marrying age close by had attended and Mycroft had spent the night talking and dancing with every single one of them. Meanwhile, Greg had spent the night telling himself he had no right to feel jealous and reminding himself that this was exactly why he had pushed Mycroft away: he was expected to marry well and Greg refused to be his lover on the side.

Still-

He might have ended up drinking more than he should in the after party the servants had had at the servants quarters once the main party had been over. He had stumbled out of the house, not really feeling like sleeping and had gone to sit on the field where he normally met with Mycroft. He had sat on his own for the longest time, but Mycroft had showed up eventually and-

“Surely you know you’re the only one for me,” Mycroft had said earnestly, grabbing his hands in his. “I could never- all those other people, they mean nothing to me. I-”

“But that’s the thing,” Greg had interrupted, perhaps a tad sluggish. “You might want me, but you can’t have me, Mycroft. I’m not- we’re not- You know your parents would never allow it.”

“I don’t care,” the other had argued, nuzzling Greg’s neck by then, both pleasantly drunk in both alcohol and the other’s nearness. “I don’t care what they say. I want you. Even if I lost everything, as long as I have you, I won’t care.”

Greg hadn’t thought he really meant that, because how could he, but the sentiment was charming and so he had decided his reluctance was silly. If they both wanted the same thing, there was no harm done and in the future…

Well, the future could wait.

* * *

 

Greg smiles wryly. Yes, he had known their relationship could go nowhere, but he had decided to take one day at the time. It had been marvelous and for a few years he couldn’t have been happier. It wasn’t easy, true and when Mycroft had first left for college Greg had been convinced he’d come back home during the holidays with a fiancé hanging from his arm, but of course that had never happened. Expressing that particular fear had been what got him his ruby ring, actually: it wasn’t an engagement ring, it couldn’t be, but Greg understood the sentiment behind it.

He doesn’t doubt Mycroft would have dropped everything for him and for their child, but he could not have in good conscience asked that of him. In part because he had been terrified Mycroft would grow to resent him (them), in part because he knew Mycroft would go very far and he couldn’t handle the idea of somehow cut that short and in part because he knew they’d become an exploitable weakness and the idea of something happening to Ellie because of that…

Well. He’d much rather not even think about that.

“Mr. Lestrade, what a pleasant surprise,” a voice says and Greg tenses immediately, having recognized it. In truth, he hadn’t expected to see Lord Magnussen so soon and, even if he did, he had assumed the lord would do as all the others before him had: pretend he didn’t exist.

“Lord Magnussen,” he greets pleasantly, eying the man warily. The lord has behaved in the most unexpected ways and he’s not sure what to think about that.

“I must admit I was rather hoping I’d run into you,” the other says, his smile all teeth and Greg holds back a shiver. “I enjoyed the other night immensely,” he tells him, stepping into his personal space and it takes every bit of Greg’s self control not to take a step back. “I was hoping for a repeat. Maybe tonight, if you’re not busy?”

No, this isn’t the way these things go. If Greg didn’t know better, he’d think the lord has an actual personal interest in him, but that wouldn’t make sense, so… “Not tonight, I’m afraid,” he says, knowing he can’t really refuse but wanting to avoid such thing so close to his actual Heat. “Perhaps next week?”

No decent Alpha would dare to scent an Omega in public, but as it’s been previously established, this wasn’t a decent Alpha. Lord Magnussen’s smile turns sharper after taking a good sniff at him and Greg does step back this time. The older man’s stare is openly lustful and Greg shivers in disgust.

“Of course,” the man agrees finally, expression neutral once more. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving Greg fighting to keep his stomach’s contents inside.

Good god, what the hell is going on?

* * *

 

He turns the idea inside his head for a while, while he continues with his work. Lord Magnussen is in Mr. Smith’s office and Greg can’t quite concentrate knowing the other man is so close. His  _ interest  _ makes no sense whatsoever and no matter how much time he spends thinking on the matter, he can’t come up with a plausible explanation.

Lord Magnussen senior had been a somewhat small rural lord, but when his son had come into the city, he had quickly made a huge fortune. It’s a well known fact said fortune comes from blackmailing most of his “associates”, although of course it’s not the sort of thing that’s acknowledged out loud. The man continues making a business of blackmailing people of different backgrounds, but Greg doubts that’s his intention with him. It’s not like Greg has anything that could interest him, not unless-

He drops the file he’s holding, causing quite a commotion due the many papers now spread across the floor, but he barely notices, his mind in overdrive. Surely not. He’s been terribly discreet; that was the whole point of leaving, after all. There’s no way the lord could have found out about his relationship with Mycroft, nor the fact they have a daughter. It’s simply not possible.

And yet-

“Mr. Lestrade, a minute please?” Mr. Smith calls for him and Greg nods absentmindedly, too distracted by his panicking thoughts to pay much attention to anything happening around him.

His boss offers him a calculating smile once he closes the door behind him and Greg can feel himself panicking further. It’s really rather counterproductive, but he can’t help his rising fear: of all the people that could have found out about his secret-

“Lord Magnussen has expressed his interest in you handling all his business with our firm from now on,” Smith says, expression mostly blank but there’s something in his eyes that makes Greg even more wary. “I can not honestly say I know what’s he’s thinking, but I’m not particularly keen on crossing him,” he continues, leaning back on his seat, waiting for a beat as if expecting Greg to explain something. “Very well then. I suppose a payment rise is also in order…” the man trails off, still watching Greg closely, who is holding himself very still, not really registering what the other is telling him and so Smith’s expression grows more thoughtful. “You really have no idea what he’s up to, do you?”

Greg shakes his head slowly, forcing himself to keep his expression from showing his concern. Mr. Smith seems to consider this for a beat, tapping his fingers against his chin. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out eventually,” he says, a delighted smile on his lips. “It’ll be quite interesting, to say at least.”

That’s not very reassuring.

Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> There were more things that were supposed to happen on this chapter, but they didn’t really work out as I hoped so… well. I hope it was enjoyable, though! It continues to clear things up, doesn’t it?  
> Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It’s rather on the short side, I’m afraid, but several factors conspired against me so…  
> Quick note before we begin: I was going to respect the POV’s order from the first chapters, but I figured I liked better how it worked if I mixed them up a little, so we’re getting John’s POV now and Mycroft’s in the next, I think.  
> I hope you’ll enjoy it!

“It does sound a little ominous.”

Greg sends a withering look his way and John shrugs helplessly. “I really don’t know what to tell you,” he says. “Of course a man that specializes in blackmail having a sudden interest in you sounds troublesome, but as you said yourself, it’s unlikely he has found out about you and Mycroft, so-”

“Unlikely, but not impossible.”

John nods, conceding the point. “And what do you want to do?” Greg groans and John sighs, patting his shoulder awkwardly. What Greg has just told him is indeed troubling, but there’s nothing they can do right now, not without any further information.

“There is of course another possibility,” he points out rather reluctantly, thinking it’s not a very reassuring explanation, but all things considered… Greg looks at him, strangely hopeful and John cringes inwardly at what he’s about to say. “It’s just… I mean… you’re a handsome man, Greg.”

His friend stares at him, blinking owlishly. John smiles sheepishly, embarrassed, before shrugging once. “You’ve got to admit-”

“It’s not that,” Greg declares darkly, crossing his arms over his chest, looking slightly offended. John arches an eyebrow challengingly and then shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh at Greg’s honestly annoyed face.

“It’s another explanation of what’s going on,” he says with another shrug. “Not necessarily a better one, but all things considered…”

Greg sighs, leaning back on his seat and covering his face with his hands. “I suppose you do have a point.” He shivers, nose scrunched in disgust. “Not terribly reassuring but better than the other option.”

They sit in silence for a while, both lost in their thoughts although John realizes guiltily his friend’s problems aren’t exactly on the forefront of his mind. “I don’t like it,” Greg says suddenly, startling him a bit. “Regardless of Lord Magnussen’s motives, it’d be wise to err on the side of caution.” He glares at John once more and the doctor has the decency to flinch a little. “I can not believe you let Sherlock take my daughter for the night.”

John chews on his lip guiltily. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he argues softly and Greg’s eyes narrow further. “I mean- you know I’m happy to look after Ellie while you deal with your Heat, but I… tonight I…”

“I can not believe you got yourself a date.”

“Hey! I happen to be a handsome fellow too!” John argues petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest, a small smile on his lips since the subject seems to be helping Greg relax a little.

“Of course you are. But you know that’s not what I meant,” Greg says with a knowing look and John sighs, looking away.

“You of all people should understand my reasons,” he murmurs softly, all good humor gone as quickly as it had come. “I can’t… it’s not healthy. Better to let my attention wander somewhere else.”

From the corner of his eye, John watches Greg nodding thoughtfully. “I do understand. I don’t think it’s necessarily the healthiest way to go about it, of course, but-”

John huffs. “I’m not  _ using  _ anyone if that’s what you’re concerned about. Jeanette and I have already discussed our expectations.”

“Have you?” Greg asks, not unkindly, but doubtful. He has good reasons to doubt his words, John supposes, considering how bad he’s at communicating and the many problems that have raised between them because that.

“Sort of,” John says, waving a hand vaguely and Greg laughs good naturedly. “I suppose we’ll talk further tonight.”

Greg nods slowly. “I hope you know what you’re going, John.”

In all truth, he’s not sure he does.

* * *

 

“Are you leaving any time soon or…?”

John nods, mostly to convince himself since he very much doubts he’s convincing Greg. The Omega arches an eyebrow, amused, but doesn’t comment, turning his attention back to his book.

“Are you alright?” he asks, stepping closer, making Greg turn to him once more. “I mean, with… _ everything _ , are you… do you want me to stay tonight?”

Greg huffs, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, John. I might be feeling especially angsty right now, but I’ll survive till morning.” He stands up, coming closer to John, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Do you want to stay?”

_Yes,_ he does, he realizes. This whole date-thing was a bad idea: not only has it been ages since he actually dated, but he also happens to be somewhat in love with someone else, so it’s probably a better idea if-

But then, he sharply reminds himself, the person he’s actually in love with also happens to be married, not to mention way above his station. It could never possibly end well and it’s better to spare them all the heartbreak.

He then remembers Sherlock’s expression when he asked him if he could look after Ellie and guilt threatens to overwhelm him. Still, he had looked pretty resigned and when John had tried to add something, he had said he understood quite perfectly and that there was no need for him to say anything else, so…

“Do you think,” he asks Greg very seriously, holding his friend’s strate. “-there’s even the smallest chance this can actually help? That it might make my…  _ feelings  _ go away?”

Greg smiles sadly, patting his shoulder, eyes full of pity. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

No, he doesn’t.

“Alright. Goodbye then.” And with that he hurries out of the door, before he can change his mind once more. He might not be convinced this will work (in fact, he’s rather convinced it won’t) but he’ll never know for sure if he doesn’t give it a try.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

 

The date is going as well as he imagined it would.

Which is to say, not good at all.

It’s not Jeanette’s fault, certainly. The girl works as a receptionist at the police station and she’s incredibly bright and witty. She leads most of the conversation, not looking terribly bothered by John’s silence, although she does try to get him to participate often.

But the thing is, he’s not really interested. He’s sure she’d be a great date for anyone else, but John can’t help thinking about someone else and soon enough he’s trying to come up with an excuse to leave. He should have stayed with Greg, really, his friend needed him and he-

“Would you like to go to my place afterwards?” she asks suddenly, startling John out of his thoughts. He blinks at her, uncomprehendingly and the woman laughs good naturedly, a small  _ flirtatious  _ smile on her lips.

“I… I don’t think…” he begins, uncertain. Surely she has noticed by now he’s not into her? Why make such a proposition then? And if she hasn’t noticed… if he accepts…

“Listen,” she says very seriously, lowering her voice. “I’ve just… My husband died no so long ago. It wasn’t… it hasn’t been easy. But I’m tired of pitying myself and I just want- I want to forget, if only for a while. So I thought… maybe… maybe we can help each other out. For a while.”

John stares dumbly and the woman rolls her eyes dramatically, picking up her glass of wine and finishes it nearly in one go. “Alright. Forget I said anything,” she murmurs, perhaps a tad annoyed but mostly just upset. She chews on her lip for a minute before shaking her head once, no doubt having a mental conversation with herself about how this was a bad idea.

“I’m in love with someone,” John finds himself blurting and she arches an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed. “But he’s… he’s not… it’s never going to happen,” he finishes awkwardly with a little shrug. “So, if you’re really sure-”

Jeanette smiles, leaning closer once more. “Is that a yes, then?”

John gulps before nodding.

“Let’s go then.”

* * *

 

John thinks he’s going to regret having picked such an expensive restaurant next time he has to buy groceries, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he shakes it away. He recognizes he’s just trying to distract himself from what he’s doing, still not fully convinced he’s doing the right thing. As he told Greg, it’s better to try to forget altogether about Sherlock and his impossible  _ feelings  _ but at the same time…

Can he outrun his foolish heart? And won’t he create a bigger mess by attempting to escape?

“Are you sure you want this?” Jeanette asks, once they’re alone in her bedroom and John curses himself, because really, one would thing he has never done this before. He might not have dated in a while, but he’s certainly no stranger to casual sex.

It feels different somehow, though. Like he’s not being honest.

He supposes that, in a way, he isn’t.

* * *

 

John wakes up feeling warm and contented. He’s snuggles closer to the warm body next to his and his mind immediately informs him there’s something wrong with this scenario. His bed partner is full of soft curves and the one he has been fantasising for weeks about having in his bed-

He pulls away immediately and half sits up to get a good look at his partner. As the memories from the night before start coming back to him, he groans in frustration. He suspected he might just end up complicating things further and now he knows for sure; he has thoroughly fucked up.

There’s a sharp knock on the flat’s door and Jeanette sits up too, looking still half asleep. John smiles at her a little and offers to go see who it is. The woman nods thankfully, lying down once more and falling back asleep shortly after. John puts on his underwear and hurries towards the door, since the knocking has become more insistent.

“We have a situation,” the newcomer says as soon as John opens the door and the doctor stares at him in open surprise, unsure if he’s dreaming. 

“Sherlock?” he asks, jaw hanging open. “What- How- What are you doing here?”

The other man rolls his eyes dramatically, pushing his way into the small flat and John is entirely too flabbergasted to even try to stop him. “As I said, we have a situation,” Sherlock says, eyes quickly sweeping over the flat. “I need your help.”

John continues staring, unsure of what to make of the situation. “How did you find me?”

Sherlock shrugs casually, but he’s carefully avoiding John’s stare. “It was quite obvious.”

“Did you- Why do you- Why didn’t you go to Greg?”

Sherlock makes a face, displeased. “The subject… concerns Lestrade somewhat.”

John feels himself panicking right away. “Did something happen to Ellie?”

Sherlock chews his lip guilty, still avoiding John’s stare. “No, she’s… my brother might have discovered she’s his.” John’s jaw drops further and the Omega shrugs once again, fidgeting a bit. 

“Crap,” John mutters to himself, running a hand over his face. “Right, let’s go.”

“You might want to put some actual clothes on,” Sherlock points out before John can make it to the door, pointedly staring at the ceiling. “I- I’ll wait outside. Give you and your…  _ date  _ some privacy.” And with that he’s out of the flat before John can even think about answering.

Well, damn it all. The situation just keeps getting messier and messier.

“I’ve got to go,” he informs Jeanette quietly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and she eyes him funnily through half closed eyelids. “Something came up.”

“I’m sure it did,” she murmurs, sounding amused, burying herself under the covers. “Good luck with that.”

John smiles wryly to himself as he quickly gets dressed.

He’s certainly going to need all the luck he can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As I said, it’s on the short side, but I struggled with this chapter a bit. Firstly because I felt I was just repeating things over and over again and secondly because, plot wise, I was not sure where I was going with it :P Also, I had actual work to do.  
> And there was another, much more unpleasant factor. I got robbed yesterday’s morning and while I’m perfectly unharmed, I’m feeling quite down. Money is definitely going to be tight this month, but mostly I’m just upset I was so careless with my purse :(  
> But well, comments always cheer me up, so if you want to help… ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I was planning on updating yesterday, but I had to make a very angry call to the insurance company and then I had some actual work to do (my boss is out of the country, but somehow I have more work to do! The nerve of some people! Can’t they see I’m trying to write?! :P)  
> Anyway, here’s the new chapter! It should shed some light on a few questions of the past chapter, or so I hope ;) Enjoy!

All in all, Mycroft thinks he’s doing rather well.

Sure, he has slept most of the past weeks at his office, mostly because he has just passed out at some point during the night while “working” and he’s fairly certain he has lost at least 5 pounds since he forgets to eat more often than not and his neck and back are killing him (sleeping while sitting at the desk is nowhere near comfortable) but all in all, he thinks he’s doing well.

He stretches his back and moves his head side to side in an effort to ease the pain a little, but his muscles protest rather enthusiastically and so he gives up soon enough. He contemplates the merits of heading home and sleeping on an actual bed and promptly dismisses the idea: his empty cold bed has never seemed more unappealing.

Good lord, what is he going to do? He can hardly carry on like this; he’ll drive himself into an early grave. Then again, that might be preferable to this empty existence, preferable than this constant longing that poisons his soul and haunts his every thought.

God, he’s being as dramatic as Sherlock.

That particular thought helps him sober up a little, having always found his brother antics childish and entirely too dramatic. Sure, he’s upset, because the man he loves with every fiber of his being is not only with another but also happens to have a child with said other but he’s no tragic heroine in a romance novel who can wither away in the face of adversity. He’ll survive this. Somehow, he’ll survive it.

He survived losing Gregory 8 years ago, didn’t he? Surely…

But then, he had been holding out hope that there was a very good explanation on why his lover had left so abruptly and that reconciliation, now that they’ve found one another once more, was possible.

It seems he was mistaken on both accounts.

He sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly and trying to pay attention to what he’s doing. His work has been his refuge for many years, but having had his heart broken a second time is proving… difficult, to say at least.

“My Lord,” his assistant says, appearing at the door, bowing lightly when Mycroft turns to look at him. “You have a visitor.”

Mycroft sighs. Exactly what he needs right now. “If it’s Lord Magnussen-”

“No,” his assistant says, a slight smirk on his lips. “I think he got the message loud and clear last time he was here.”

Mycroft wouldn’t bet on that, but one can only hope. “Send them in, then,” he says, gesturing vaguely and his assistant hurries to bow once more before disappearing. He hears voices in the corridor and he can’t help the small smile that comes unbidden to his lips.

Ah, maybe some company wouldn’t be a bad thing after all.

* * *

 

Of the all the Omegas several lords and ladies have paraded in front of him over the years, the only one that has held his attention long enough is no doubt Lady Brown. (Un)fortunately, his interest in the woman is purely intellectual and not at all romantic and/or physical. In truth, it’s a pity she’s an Omega since that has stopped her from taking control over her mother’s company. Mycroft prefers dealing with her a hundred times over her Alpha brothers, who are entirely too brutish and dim witted.

In fact, he has a hard time believing they’re actually related.

But of course his preference for talking to Anthea has caused…  _ complications  _ in the past. Her mothers had been thrilled at his apparent interest and they had taken it badly when he had informed them they weren’t actually courting. Mycroft had feared the incident would tarnish their very beneficial business relationship, but Anthea had proved once more her surprising ability to handle  _ difficulties  _ and the business relationship had not only survived, but thrived.

If he must be honest, he might have considered marrying the girl shortly after they met: he liked her, she was funny, witty and bright; all in all, everything he could possibly want in a mate. But he had a tendency to compare every marriageable prospect to his Gregory and everyone kept coming short. It wouldn’t have been fair on him or on Anthea, so he had settled for a close, but completely platonic, relationship.

In fact, other than his brother, Anthea is the only one who knows about Gregory and all the heartbreak he has suffered since he lost him.

He offers to buy her dinner, because he’s actually hungry and also because he thinks he might find it easier to talk about his _love_ _problems_ in a more relaxed setting. Talking to Anthea usually proves quite useful; she usually gives him an insight on the issue he hadn’t even considered. She smiles sympathetically as he tells her about his run-in into his ex-lover and doesn’t offer him any meaningless words of empty comfort. She just listens and lets him vent to his heart's content.

“What are you going to do?” she asks once he has finished his tale, head tilted to the side curiously. “I don’t think you’re the kind of person who gives up on something or someone, as the case might be, so easily.”

Mycroft huffs, shaking his head despondently. “That might be true, but what can I do? I can hardly force the issue. He’s found someone else; I shouldn’t get involved.”

Anthea hums thoughtfully. “While I… admire your noble intentions, do you honestly believe yourself capable of staying away?” she smirks at his indignant expression. “I just meant- it’s clear he still means a lot to you. I think… I think that now that you know where he is, you’ll find yourself constantly drawn to him and while I do believe you won’t try to rekindle your romance because you’re an honorable man, I don’t think you’ll stay away enough not to hurt yourself further.”

Mycroft considers her words very thoughtfully, knowing she does have a point. He has kept himself away these last two weeks, but how long can he hold on? Even if getting Gregory’s love back is not possible, he thinks he’d like to be part of his life once again. It’s crazy and, probably, all kinds of unhealthy, but-

“What do you suggest I do, then?” he asks and Anthea scrunches her nose, taking another sip of her drink.

“It’s been 8 years, Mycroft. You need to move on.”

He huffs. “If only it was that simple.”

She observes him in silence, her gaze understanding but there’s an underlying pity in it. Mycroft squirms on his seat, uncomfortable, well aware he might be a little…  _ pathetic  _ but he can’t help the way he feels. “I don’t know what to tell you,” she says finally, almost mournfully. “The heart wants what it wants, I suppose.”

Indeed it does.

* * *

 

Since his house is closer and he’s perhaps a tad drunk, Mycroft instructs his driver to take them to his place first. Once there, Anthea insists on staying for a bit, if only to make sure he’s not about to hurt himself in an attempt to reach his bedroom and while Mycroft scoffs at her concern, he doesn’t protest much.

The lights are on when they arrive and Mycroft frowns, concerned. As far as he knows, his brother’s husband is in the city and while he doesn’t care what Sherlock does when he’s away, he is quite…  _ peculiar  _ about Sherlock’s night habits when he’s in London.

The mere idea of his little brother being in trouble helps him sober up considerably, but Anthea insists on staying, in case he needs help with something. They enter the house, Mycroft’s heart on his throat, only to find his brother is indeed there and he has company with him.  

“Sherlock!” he exclaims, perhaps a tad horrified, because of all the…  _ mean  _ things his brother has done to him over the years, this is by far the cruelest.

The younger man barely spares a look in his direction, his whole focus on the chess game he’s playing. In front of him, Gregory’s child is frowning, considering the board, expression entirely too serious for such a young girl.

He rubs his temples tiredly and glares at Anthea’s amused smile before turning his attention back to his brother and companion. “Sherlock, what’s the meaning of this?”

The girl is now looking at him curiously, the game completely forgotten and his brother shrugs non committedly before making his move. “Lestrade couldn’t look after her and John had a  _ date _ , so I decided to babysit.”

“I don’t need minding” the child protests softly, crossing her arms over her chest and Sherlock offers her a smallsmile before messing up her hair affectionately. “Hey!” she exclaims, trying to rearrange her hair, a pout on her lips that reminds Mycroft a lot of his little brother when he was that young.

Next to him, Anthea chuckles quietly, although she’s staring at the girl funnily. Mycroft continues staring at his brother, trying to make sense of what he has just said: he seems to be in somewhat familiar terms with Gregory and his partner, which suggests he’s been visiting them behind his back.

God, he had never thought his brother would be this cruel to him. “And why are you here?” he asks and this time his brother does turn to him, one eyebrow arched.

“You’re not honestly suggesting I should take her home with me and  _ my dear husband _ , do you?” he asks ironically. “That could get messy.”

“It will get messy,” Mycroft argues, hands on his hips. “You know your husband doesn’t like it when you stay with me while he’s in the city.”

Sherlock shrugs. “It’ll be fine,” he assures him, his tone implying he doesn’t want to argue the point and, considering there’s a small child present, Mycroft supposes he has a point.

“Alright,” he murmurs dejectedly. “You’ll do whatever you want, anyway.”

“Indeed,” his brother agrees, turning back to his game but his young companion is still watching Mycroft closely.

“Manners, Sherlock,” she chastises when the Omega looks up at her expectantly and he raises an eyebrow challengingly. The girl huffs, rolling her eyes, “I’m Eleanor,” she introduces herself, standing up and extending her hand for Mycroft to shake. Once again Mycroft thinks she’s entirely too serious for someone so young and he’s painfully reminded of how he was at her age.

“Mycroft,” he introduces himself and her eyes open very wide, something like recognition flashing on them, although she composes her expression so quickly that Mycroft is left wondering if he imagined it. “And this is Anthea,” he continues, gesturing to his own female companion who’s been strangely silent for a long while.

The girl shakes the woman’s hand, expression perfectly blank, although there seems to be something in her eyes… “You’re not courting,” she says, observing Anthea as closely as the older woman is observing her and Mycroft wonders briefly what’s going on.

“No,” Anthea agrees, a small smile on her lips, nodding approvingly. She chuckles when the girl smiles brightly at her and Mycroft can’t help feeling he’s missing something. Sherlock is watching them closely too, chewing on his lip somewhat guiltily and the sensation of having been left out of some big secret increases.

Anthea is watching him now, a funny expression on her face, before she shakes her head, a fond smile on her lips. “I think I’ll be going,” she tells him, turning on her heel and heading for the door. “Keep me informed on your… uh…  _ progress  _ with the issue we discussed.”

Mycroft frowns, his confusion growing, but when he turns to his brother, hoping he might explain, the younger man is already focusing on the game once more and so is his young companion.

He’s definitely missing something, but what?

* * *

 

He falls asleep as soon as he rests his head on his pillow, a profound, dreamless sleep that makes him wake up feeling thoroughly restored. It’s still very early in the morning when he wakes up, but he’s always been an early riser and he can never go back to sleep once has woken up already.

When he was much younger, his early rising habits played on his favour since it allowed him to meet Gregory for a couple of hours before breakfast. Back when they had just been friends, he had simply enjoyed the company and the conversation and later-

Well.

He groans, covering his face with his hands. There are a million little things that make him think of Gregory at the oddest times, although he supposes right now is not the worst time to be thinking about his ex lover. The memories have kept him company through the years and while they hurt, he wouldn’t give them up for the world.

He sits on the bed for the longest time, just staring at the wall thoughtfully. He thinks Anthea is right: there’s no way he’s going to keep his distance but, if he doesn’t, he’s not sure he can keep it platonic. And he doesn’t want to meddle in Gregory’s current relationship, not really, because he wants him to be happy more than anything, even if it’s not with him, but-

What is he going to do?

The answer is definitely not an easy one.

* * *

 

He tiptoes around the house because everyone is still abed and old habits die hard. Most of his meetings with Gregory took place in the early morning, mostly to avoid being seen. He doubted anyone would have cared if they had found out about their relationship, since everyone would have taken it as a meaningless fling, a little  _ indulgence  _ the older Holmes heir allowed himself and while he couldn’t have cared less what others thought, he knew it would have bothered Gregory.

A sound coming from his study makes his stop dead on his feet and he considers his options. He’s careful to always keep the door locked, although he knows from experience his brother would have no trouble breaking in if he really wanted. Still, he can’t imagine what Sherlock could possibly be looking for and if he needed something it’s likely he’d have asked for it, so-

Slowly, he starts making his way towards the study, making a quick stop at his bedroom to grab his pistol. He’s hoping he won’t need it, but one can never be too careful.

The door to the study is indeed open and the lock has been picked. His heartbeat picks up speed and for a minute he considers go looking for backup, but the sound of some documents falling and a quiet  _ damn  _ in a feminine and entirely too young voice makes him relax immediately.

“Ms. Lestrade,” he says, opening the door fully to find the young girl perilously perched on top of his chair, trying to put back a book on the top shelf. Mycroft recognizes the book and he forces himself not to react outwardly; in all their relationship, he only wrote Gregory a couple of times while he was in college. He keeps the two answering letters in said book, carefully hidden despite the fact they’re written in code. In truth, it’s not a terribly difficult code and if a blackmailer got their hands on them they’d have no trouble figuring out the code, but-

Why did young Ms. Lestrade pick up the book anyway?

“The spine is worn out,” she explains as she slowly descends the chair. “Why put a book that’s constantly revised so high up?”

Mycroft raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Sherlock’s found himself a pupil.” There’s perhaps a tinge of pride in his words, but he can’t help himself. He imagines that if he had had a daughter himself, he would have taught her as he had taught Sherlock: learning to really observe can be most useful.

She shrugs casually, but there’s a light blush on her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she says, head bowed a little but just like Sherlock when he’s forced to apologize, she doesn’t look the slightest bit sorry. “I know one shouldn’t pry on other people’s business, Papa always says,” she tells him very seriously, her brown and entirely too familiar eyes fixed on him. “But I was terribly curious.”

Mycroft hums in acknowledgment, although her words have made him curious too. “What has your father told you about me?”

She hesitates for a beat, chewing on her lip lightly. She bores the strongest resemblance to his dear Gregory, which while it makes him ache fiercely, it also makes him immediately fond of the girl.

“Nothing at all,” she confesses finally, avoiding his eyes now. “But I… I overheard him and Sherlock talking,” she continues, still biting her lip so harshly Mycroft worries she’s going to draw out blood. 

Mycroft frowns, watching her closely, unsure of how he feels about the fact that Gregory has never even mentioned him to his daughter. It stings more than he’s willing to admit.

“You really loved my dad, didn’t you?” she asks, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the book, now in its rightful place. “I- The code is quite simple,” she says, blushing once more and Mycroft smiles at her reassuringly, although he suspects he looks entirely too sad for it to be truly reassuring.

“Yes,” he answers simply. “I still do.” Probably not the wisest thing to say, all things considered, but he can’t bring himself to lie about such fact.

She is watching him very seriously, seemingly thinking long and hard about something and suddenly she nods to herself, apparently having come to a decision. “I’m 8,” she informs him and waits for the information to truly sink in. Mycroft stares at her dumbly, not quite daring to believe-

“Oh god,” he murmurs, his heart attempting to escape his chest as his knees go weak, forcing him to lean against the wall to stop himself from practically fainting. Eleanor looks sheepish, but determined, a small smile on her lips.

Surely not. Surely Gregory wouldn’t keep such secret from him.

Except it seems he really did. Because the more he looks at her, the more it makes sense and he thinks he does recognize bits of him in her: the nose, definitely and the hair. How could he miss it? How could he be so blind?

And why the hell didn’t Gregory tell him?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> So we’ve learned how Mycroft found out about Ellie, but I hope it wasn’t disappointing? The poor boy was super oblivious, but give him a break: he was heartbroken.  
> The next chapter will run from Sherlock’s POV, we’ll see a bit of his relationship with his husband and, if things go according to plan, we’ll get some insight on Magnussen’s plan. Unfortunately, I’ll be out of the city for the weekend and I don’t work on monday, so… it might take a little.  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m sorry for the late update but, as I said, I was out of town for the weekend and I didn’t work on monday. Yesterday wasn’t a good day for writing, but I did manage to write quite a bit before leaving the office so… well. Here we are.  
> Enjoy!

_He doesn’t care._

He really doesn’t. Why should he? It’s not like he’s in any position to expect anything from John, not at all. He’s married, so even if… even if there had been _something_ growing between them, he could have never afforded to explore the possibilities. It’d have been too risky.

So he doesn’t care if John has decided to sleep with every other Omega in London; it’s really none of his business. Their… _whatever_ could have never worked out and so it’s probably better if they both forget all about that nonsense.

He wonders how many times he’ll have to tell himself that before he starts believing it.

The drive towards his brother’s house is pure torture, the air so tense between them Sherlock can barely breath. John is gazing outside the window, looking terribly guilty for a man who has done (technically) nothing wrong and Sherlock wonders when did his life get this complicated. He always knew love was a troublesome thing, not worth the hassle and yet-

Well. Here he is.

John clears his throat suddenly, obviously as uncomfortable with the silence as Sherlock himself. He looks at him, one eyebrow arched and John bites his lip for a second before speaking. “How… how did your brother find out about Ellie?”

Right. It’s probably better if they focus on the problem at hand. “She told him,” he says simply, with a small shrug. John frowns, confused.

“She didn’t know.”

Sherlock considers this for a beat, before shrugging once more. “She evidently did. I imagine she simply feigned sleep the first time I was at your flat and the rest… it was easy enough to put together.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “It probably was a bad idea to take her with me for the night.”

John chews his lip viciously, evidently feeling guilty and Sherlock doesn’t bother to try to reassure him, a part of him actually pleased at the other man’s discomfort.

God, love truly brings out the worst of people, doesn’t it?

“How did your brother take it?” John asks after a brief silence and Sherlock shrugs non committedly.

“Well, I think, all things considered. At least he didn’t storm out of the house and went looking for Lestrade, although it was a near thing, I believe. He’s angry at me, naturally, although Eleanor made a most convincing defense in my favour.”

John’s lips curve upwards briefly and Sherlock’s heart skips a beat at the softness of his expression. He’s got it bad, no doubt about it, and yet he knows it can not end in anything other than tragedy.

“She’s good at that. You’ve got no idea how many times she has managed to talk us out of grounding her.” He chuckles good naturedly and Sherlock’s heart does a little flip. It can’t be healthy, he thinks, all these acrobatics his heart insists on performing when John is around, but he can’t help it.

They travel in silence for a while, both lost in their thoughts. “It’s only a matter of time, though,” John murmurs finally, staring outside the window once more. “He’s going to want to see Greg.”

Sherlock sighs, nodding tightly. “I told him what Lestrade told me, but I don’t think he really understood.” He pauses for a bit, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. “Probably because I didn’t really understand either.”

John nods, expression solemn. “That’s not going to be pretty.”

Sherlock huffs, unamused and John offers him a wry smile.

Understatement of the century, really.

* * *

 

Considering Eleanor apparently spent most of the previous night wandering around the house and revising whatever documents she could find, it’s not surprising that by the time Sherlock makes it back to his brother’s house, the girl is fast asleep in one of the guest bedrooms. It’s also unsurprising his brother has taken upon himself to provide the girl with every ridiculous thing he imagines a girl her age might want although, to be honest, Sherlock is a little surprised that in the hour it took him to pick John up and come back, his brother has managed to get his minions to acquire so many… trinkets.

Lestrade won’t be pleased, he thinks.

“The thing is… umm… I don’t think… it just seems a bit… excesive,” John is saying, although it’s obvious by his whole posture and tone he has given up on convincing Mycroft to be _reasonable._

“She’s my daughter,” Mycroft argues, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Considering I haven’t looked after her for 8 years, I think it’s in order-”

“Yes, but see, Greg won’t like that,” John says, sounding awfully tired, rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s going to be… _upset_ enough about you _knowing_ about Ellie, without having to add all this.” He points at the trinkets lying all around the living room and Sherlock has to admit it does seem excessive, even for his standards.

Mycroft is glaring now and Sherlock figures it’s time to rescue his… _friend._ His brother has been glaring daggers at the doctor ever since he introduced them, even after Sherlock explained John and Greg are not actually sleeping together, they just happen to share a flat.

“Lestrade didn’t want you to know you have a daughter, I’m assuming he’s even less keen on the rest of the world knowing,” he says, coming to stand next to John, who is looking at him gratefully.

“Why?” Mycroft demands, rather petulantly, he thinks, arms crossed over his chest.

“Blackmailing,” John supplies helpfully before Sherlock can even open his mouth. “And… he might have also mentioned… eh... something about dead half siblings?”

Ah. Sherlock looks at his brother, who looks properly horrified because yes, they both obviously missed that particular danger. Then again, dear Mummy has been dead for a few years and Father passed away a year ago, so…

Blackmailing is still an issue, though. A complicated one, actually.

And of course that Mycroft is entirely too willing to overlook it, as ever, judging by his current expression. Once he has dismissed the threat of his little daughter ending like so many of the children his father had had outside the marriage, he looks at ease once more.

“Mycroft, that could be… you’ve never dealt with blackmailers before. Not directly,” he points out, because he does know how troublesome blackmailers can be. He has worked enough cases with the police (unofficially, of course) to know they’re one hell of a danger, particularly for someone like his brother and his particular… job.

Mycroft turns to look at him, thoroughly unimpressed. “Maybe not directly, but I do know what I’m risking, Sherlock,” he argues, his tone implying the subject is not up for discussion. “I’ll talk to Gregory. We have many things to discuss.”

“Yes, but not today,” John hurries to say and Mycroft arches an eyebrow. “It’s just… umm… did Sherlock tell you why Ellie couldn’t stay with him last night?” His brother frowns and John blushes, which amuses Sherlock endlessly. For a doctor, he can be quite a prude at times.

“Heat,” he supplies, with a full blown smirk on his lips when his brother blushes. Alphas, really.

“Right,” Mycroft says, his cheeks still red. “I suppose… it can wait till tomorrow.” He looks at John, searching for confirmation and the doctor shrugs non committedly.

“He’s probably out of it by now, but all things considered… yes, tomorrow would be better.”

Sherlock sighs, thinking all this waiting can’t possibly be good. There are things that are better to face them off sooner rather than later, but given the circumstances it’s probably the wisest thing to do.

He bites his lip as he realizes he’s probably going to miss the resolution. He really wishes he could stay, but he knows he’ll be doing nobody any favours by staying with his brother another night while his husband is in the city. His husband might be inclined to _forgive_ last night transgression if he _behaves_ for the rest of his visit but two nights in a row… that’s pushing his luck too far.

Well, it seems it’ll be up to John to be the voice of reason.

* * *

 

“Ah, darling, so nice of you to finally come home.”

Sherlock takes a deep breath, putting on his blank mask and willing himself not to let anything his husband might say affect him. He steps into the living room, back perfectly straight, an empty smile on his lips, head held high, measuring his every move very carefully.

Not completely unexpectedly, his husband has company tonight. Better that way, he thinks, since it’ll take his husband’s attention away from him, at least for the time being. “Lord Magnussen,” he greets pleasantly, nodding his head in the direction of their guest, his face betraying nothing, although he’s deeply curious about the man’s visit. He knows he’s been trying to _negotiate_ with Mycroft for a while, with very little success, but he’s not sure why he’d come to his husband for help. It’s a well known fact that the brothers-in-law _dislike_ each other so-

“Come and join us, darling,” his husband practically purrs, a big empty smile on his face. Sherlock hates that smile, because it always means something bad is about to come his way, but he complies as he’s expected to and he perches himself on the armrest of his husband’s chair, careful not to touch him and to keep as much distance between them as possible.

The Alphas carry on with their conversation, completely ignoring him, or at least pretending to do so, since it’s obvious they’ve changed their original subject. It’s hard to tell how aware Moriarty is of Sherlock’s actual intelligence, because he’s done a damn good job at playing the idiot, but he supposes men like Moriarty and Magnussen don’t go as far as they have if they get careless.

He lets his mind wander then, going over the day’s happenings. As he observes Magnussen, he’s reminded of the threat of blackmailers and wonders briefly if the man knows something. Unlikely, since he’d probably have let his brother know if he did, but-

He shivers before he can stop himself and berates himself a second later, although his companions seem oblivious to it. It wouldn’t do to alert either of them of something possibly being wrong; he needs to be even more careful from now on.

He thinks Mycroft is underestimating just how badly things could go if someone like Magnussen found out about not only his romance with Lestrade, but the fact they had a daughter. It’s not uncommon for Lords to have children with servants out of wedlock, but it’s certainly uncommon for them to care about said children. It’s a very exploitable weakness and Mycroft is a fool if he believes there’s no real danger on that front. It could be entirely too costly.

He tenses when he feels his husband’s hand on his thigh and forces himself to relax a second later. He spares a quick glance in the man’s direction and frowns a bit as he takes in his husband’s wary expression. It’s barely there and if Sherlock wasn’t so perceptive he’d probably dismiss it as a trick of the light, but-

A squeeze on his thigh makes him clench his jaw and he looks away once more, fixing his eyes on the far wall. His husband rarely touches him, something for which he’s extremely grateful and all this contact can’t be a good thing, although he’s not sure what it means.

He never had any romantic notions about marriage; how could he having seen his parents growing up? Mother and Father took great delight on making each other as miserable as possible, although he never understood why they hated each other quite as much. In contrast, he doesn’t feel much anything for his own husband: a vague distaste at the things he does and perhaps a not-exactly-healthy interest in how he does said things, but other than that…

Hating someone requires a certain amount of passion that Sherlock doubts he possesses or at least he always doubted he possessed. Lately though-

He recalls what he felt last night, when John had asked him if he’d be willing to look after Eleanor while he was otherwise… occupied. In truth, he had been tempted to say he couldn’t and he knew it wouldn’t have been a lie either: his husband was in town so he was expected at his house and he certainly couldn’t bring Eleanor with him, but-

Agreeing had hurt, in some undescriptible way, but he had found himself incapable of giving any other answer, because he’s never been one to deny favours to the people he actually likes (even if he has weird ways to go about it when his brother is the one asking for the favour, of course).

He holds back a sigh. No matter how many times he tells himself the best he can do is forget all about his fanciful feelings for John, not only for his sake but for the doctor’s, he can’t quite convince himself. He’s always been stubborn and usually people telling him he can’t do something has him hurrying to do said thing, but in this case-

This time a small sigh does escape him and he realizes his mistake a few seconds later, when he catches his husband’s eye. He doesn’t like the way he’s smirking at him, not at all and he curses silently.

He just keeps on digging a deeper grave, really.

* * *

 

Lord Magnussen leaves some time later and as soon as the man is gone Sherlock can feel himself tensing. He hasn’t moved from his place on the armrest and neither has his husband, having forgone the courtesy of walking their _guest_ to the door. Sherlock turns to his husband, ready to comment on this fact if only to keep the conversation from going into more dangerous paths, when the other man grabs him by the wrist and in one swift movement pulls him into his lap.

Well. This is an unexpected development.

“You have the funniest taste in _friends,_ my darling,” his husband tells him, holding him by the back of his neck so he’s forced to face him when he speaks. Sherlock gulps, somewhat nervously, but doesn’t let his face betray anything.

“Indeed?” he asks calmly, expression stony. “I wasn’t aware I even had any.”

Moriarty smirks dangerously and an involuntary shiver runs down Sherlock’s spine. “You know perfectly well who I’m speaking of,” he says, his grip on the back on his neck tightening to the point it’s nearly painful, which only helps to strengthen Sherlock’s resolve of not saying anything.

Having reached an impasse, they simply sit in silence, staring at each other. Finally, his husband chuckles before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek that makes Sherlock’s hold back a disgusted snarl. “Now, now, darling. Behave,” the Alpha says calmly, still holding him by the back of his neck, pulling him closer so he can properly kiss him. “If you do, I might tell you why is your not-so-new friend in trouble.”

That makes Sherlock freeze, letting the other man kiss him without even attempting to pull away, his mind too busy otherwise. Who is Moriarty referring to? Lestrade? John? What can he possibly know?

His husband chuckles, nipping his jaw playfully before finally pulling away. “I’m feeling on a generous mood tonight,” he informs him, smirk still firmly in place. “So I’ll cut you a deal: you give me back my letter- don’t bother denying you have it and you know which one I’m referring to- and I’ll give you a hint about Charles’ plan.”

Sherlock stares at him calculatingly. He knows which letter he’s speaking of, of course and while every inch in his body is screaming for him to start running since he’s been discovered, he stays where he is, expression as blank as ever. There’s no use on denying he has the letter but it’s obvious that he’s in no immediate danger; his husband is in the mood for a game and Sherlock has just become his next opponent. The question is- does he play along or not?

His husband lets him go when he attempts to stand up, having reached a decision. He nods tightly and goes to grab his coat once more before leaving the house and heading towards his brother’s place.

He has a letter to recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> In case you’re wondering- no, of course Sherlock isn’t about to tell Mycroft what has just happened. He’s silly (and secretive) like that, so I’m afraid we’re still not learning about Magnussen’s plan in a while :P  
> On the bright side- we’re getting Mycroft’s and Greg’s much needed conversation in the next chapter although I can’t promise that’ll be a good thing. Because I’m evil like that and because I need it for plot reasons, but my plans might change as I write (as they usually do because the characters usually refuse to listen to me. For example, there were a few things we were supposed to learn in this chapter, but we didn’t, so I need to find another place for them).  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought, pretty please?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m so so sorry about the late update but work has been crazy and I’m still chasing after that promised promotion so… well. I’ve been doing a lot of actual work lately :P  
> But here we are! It’s a little on the short side and it didn’t quite go the way I wanted it to, but hopefully it’ll be enjoyable anyway!

They should stop.

He’s not quite sure why, but he knows they should. It’s a little hard to think when there’s so much kissing and rubbing together involved, but there’s a voice in the back of Greg’s head  _ screaming  _ for him to stop before he does something he’s going to regret later.

Except he doesn’t see how he could possibly come to regret  _ this.  _ Why would he regret enthusiastically kissing the man he loves more than life itself, who happens to be right here, right now, after all these years apart? Surely he couldn’t. Surely there’s nothing wrong with this scenario. Surely the voice in the back of his head is talking crazy. And yet-

“Gregory, I think… oh god… my dear, please-” no, no, Mycroft  _ talking _ is not a good thing and Greg doesn’t want to stop. If he stops what he’s doing he’ll start thinking and he really doesn’t want to to do that, although-

“Wait!” Mycroft urges him, holding him at arm's length. Greg wouldn’t be inclined to obey, not at all, except Mycroft has just spoken in his most authoritative tone, the one he never  _ ever  _ uses on Greg and that can’t possibly be good.

“What’s the matter?” he practically whines, his tone pathetically desperate and the other man seems to hesitate, his grip on his shoulders loosening considerably and therefore allowing Greg to step closer once more. He doesn’t let Greg kiss him on the mouth once more, but he doesn’t pull away either and so Greg supposes it counts as a good thing anyway.

“I should come back later,” Mycroft murmurs softly, rubbing soothing circles over Greg’s back. “Once you’re more… cool headed.” Greg blinks, unsure what he means and Mycroft sighs, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “I don’t… I won’t take advantage of the situation.”

Greg makes a soft pitiful noise and Mycroft’s arms are suddenly around him. He snuggles closer, happy with the closeness for the moment, although his body is craving something else. He’s practically out of Heat already, but he still craves contact and-

_ Oh.  _

Understanding feels like a bucket of cold water being thrown at him and Greg pulls away on his own volition now, ashamed of his behaviour and perhaps a tad horrified at his own eagerness. His blood is still  _ singing _ at the other man’s presence, urging him to close the distance between them, but now his mind is a bit clearer and he realizes why exactly that can’t be.

Although-

But no. He made his decision years ago and he stands by it. It’s not ideal or fair, not by far, but there’s really no other choice to make. For his and Mycroft’s sake, it’s better if they stay apart.

“I’m… sorry about that,” he murmurs, feeling self conscious, pulling at his shirt awkwardly. “I don’t… I’m better now.”

Mycroft is frowning, evidently uncertain and Greg forces himself to take another step back. His skin feels a little too tight and he’s itching all over, but he manages to put on a blank face. He certainly wishes Mycroft hadn’t come around today, but maybe it’ll work out for the best: at least Ellie isn’t around because that could get quite… messy. “So, what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice steady despite it all and he smiles internally, pleased with himself.

“I…” Mycroft begins, biting his lip gently before turning around and going to stand by the window, staring outside, probably to give himself some time to gather his thoughts. “I do apologize for my inconvenient visit,” he murmurs finally, still not facing him. “I didn’t… I thought you’d be out of it today and I didn’t think waiting much longer would do us any favours, so…” He trails off awkwardly and Greg frowns briefly at his words. They seem to imply he knew about his…  _ state _ but how would he- “I’ve come to discuss your reasons for leaving me 8 years ago.”

Greg sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. Ever since he ran into Mycroft on that fatidic night he had known this conversation was coming, although he had foolishly allowed himself not to prepare for it: as if ignoring the issue would make it disappear somehow.

“It wasn’t going to work,” he answers, some immeasurable time later, staring at some point on the far wall. “I always knew, but the knowledge became… unbearable.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. It’s a good compromise, he thinks.

Mycroft doesn’t answer, still staring outside the window thoughtfully. “Did you find out you were pregnant before or after you made that decision?” he asks and Greg’s heart stops in his chest. Sherlock had said Mycroft knew he had a daughter, but he had hoped-

“Who told you?” he asks, dropping his gaze to the floor when he hears the other man approaching him. His heart is beating erratically, painfully so and he suddenly feels like he can’t continue standing. He drops himself at one of the chairs in the living room, covering his face with his hands, feeling terribly tired and defeated.

“Eleanor,” Mycroft answers simply and Greg looks up at him sharply. “Although I should have noticed sooner,” he adds after a beat. “All the signs were there.”

Greg smiles sadly, shaking his head. He’s not sure how Ellie found out about her other father, but he’s not surprised: his little girl is nothing if not resourceful and she’s just as smart as Mycroft, so it was to be expected, really.

What a fool he was, believing he could keep the truth a secret forever more.

“I see,” he murmurs dejectedly, running a hand through his greying hair. “What do you want me to say?”

Mycroft is staring at him, eyes full of sadness and Greg has to look away, his heart constricting painfully. “Why didn’t you tell me?” his ex lover asks, crouching down in front of his seat, resting his hands on Greg’s knees, sending a shiver down his spine. “You must have known… there was nothing in this world that would have made me happier than having a family with you.”

There are tears threatening to escape his eyes, but Greg refuses to shed them. He avoids the Alpha’s eyes, staring stubbornly at his shoes, clenching and unclenching his fists. “It couldn’t be,” he whispers hoarsely, still fighting off tears. “You had too much to lose and I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, my love,” Mycroft murmurs earnestly, one hand coming to grip Greg’s chin, making him look at him. “Nothing. I’d have given up everything in the blink of an eye, if it meant I could be with you. And our daughter-”

Greg shakes his head furiously, an errant tear managing to escape his eyes. “You don’t understand. I didn’t… you’d have lost everything-”

“I don’t care-”

“-and the risk!” Greg hurries to add, refusing to be interrupted. “From your parents, from the world at large! Even if… if you had been willing to give everything up, it didn’t mean you actually could or that you wouldn’t come to regret it. I couldn’t… I just… I thought it was better if I just left.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispers very softly, pressing their foreheads together. “I would never regret-” Greg scoffs and the other man frowns, his grip on his chin tightening. “The only thing I regret is that apparently I could never get you to understand just how much exactly you meant to me. How much you still mean,” he adds, his hand moving so he’s cupping his cheek now. “I love you. I always have and I always will.”

Damn it all. He blames his stupid hormones on his oversentimental reaction to the words, although his ex lover doesn’t seem to mind terribly. Mycroft presses soft kisses to his cheeks and mouth while Greg continues to cry quietly, overwhelmed by the words that ring honest in his ears and yet aren’t enough to quell his fears.

“It’s still impossible,” he says after what feels like a lifetime, pulling away to dry his tears. “You… I… it wouldn’t be safe. Your parents-”

“-are dead,” Mycroft interrupts with a small shrug of his shoulders. “There’s no danger on that front anymore.”

Greg blinks, having failed to consider that possibility. He’s almost tempted to forget all about his objections, but then- “what about blackmailers? or… Mycroft, a Lord’s legitimate child is protected by that sole condition, but our daughter… there are too many people who wouldn’t hesitate to harm her if they thought-”

“Gregory,” Mycroft interrupts sharply, grabbing his hands and squeezing them reassuringly. “I’d never let anything happen to either of you.”

Greg laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “God, Mycroft! You’re not- it’s not- if something happened to Ellie-”

“You have my word-”

“You’re not infallible!” Greg snaps, throwing his hands upwards. “You can not know for sure… please, you’ve got to see…”

“I won’t let fear rule what I can or not do,” Mycroft argues. “There’s risk, I’ll give you that, but surely-”

“I’m not risking my daughter!” Greg yells, standing up abruptly, startling his companion. “When it was just the two of us… but now I can’t Mycroft, I just can’t. I can no longer be with you because it’d put my daughter at risk and that’s… that’s…” He bites his lip harshly, turning away, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause in which he’s half tempted to turn around to see what Mycroft is doing, but he doesn’t, afraid he’ll do something foolish if he does. “I do wish to continue seeing my daughter,” Mycroft says finally, tone deadly grave. “You can’t deny me that right.”

God, doesn’t he see? That’s just as bad! “I can’t let you do that,” he argues, turning around slowly so they’re face to face once more.

“I do not wish to fight you on the subject,” Mycroft says, expression completely closed off now. “I will not ask you to be my lover again if that’s not what you wish, but I’ll continue seeing my daughter when I please and I’ll provide for her.”

“Mycroft, that’s not-” Greg argues, rubbing his temples once more in an attempt to chase off his upcoming migraine. “It’s not… can’t you understand why I’m asking you to stay away?” he looks up at the other man pleadingly. “I don’t… I love you too, dammit! But it’s just too risky!”

“Gregory-”

“No, just- please, try to understand. Just… try to see it from my point of view.”

There’s another tense silence and Greg finds himself holding his breath, terrified of what might happen next. Part of the reason he left without telling Mycroft a single thing was because he knew that if they actually talked, Mycroft might actually manage to convince him to forget all about his (very reasonable) concerns.

“I’m sorry,” his ex lover murmurs, heading towards the door. “That part is non negotiable.”

And with that he’s out of the door before Greg can even think of an answer. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face in despair.

What the hell is he supposed to do now?

* * *

 

After a beat, Greg goes to stand by the window, just in time to watch Mycroft exit the building. The other man looks upwards then, something in his expression so…  _ vulnerable  _ that Greg is half tempted to throw caution to the wind and run after him. But then, he has done so before and it has done him no favours so…

He shakes his head, frustrated with himself. He had prayed he’d never have to face this particular situation, because he had been worried he wouldn’t be strong enough to resist temptation. He bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood and repeats to himself all his reasons to stay away, although they sound rather feeble now. In all truth, his biggest worry had always been Lady Holmes, closely followed by her husband and now that he knows they’re both dead-

But the risk still exists and Greg would rather die than put Ellie in any danger. He forces himself to walk away from the window and focus on his daily chores, telling himself  _ thinking  _ about it won’t change a damn thing. He knows Mycroft and he knows how stubborn he can be, but maybe…

Maybe he’ll see things his way, eventually. Maybe he’ll come to understand, once he has had some time to think about it all: stubborn he might be, but not completely unreasonable.

But while Greg doesn’t know it yet, they’ve already run out of time.

* * *

 

“I am sorry,” Ellie says earnestly, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Greg’s hands in hers. “Would you let me explain?”

Greg sighs, leaning back against the wall. He had been planning on doing a few house chores before John and Ellie came in, but he had soon found himself too tired to even contemplate moving and so he’s been sitting on his own bed for hours, pretending to read although his eyes simply skim over the words, not really grasping them.

He smiles at his daughter, who looks honestly upset. She’s so serious for a girl her age; so much like her other father and he doesn’t think that’s really a good thing. “You don’t have to explain,” he says, running his fingers through her messy curls affectionately. “I should have told you about your other father long ago.”

Ellie chews her lip nervously, shrugging one shoulder. “I know the subject pains you,” she murmurs softly, eyes downcasted. “And I… I was curious, but I never wanted to hurt you. That night… it’s just… I thought it was the perfect opportunity to find out the answers I seeked. Still, I know I shouldn’t have…” she trails off awkwardly, shrugging once more. “I should have talked to you first.”

Greg hums in acknowledgment, although he’s not quite sure that would have been a good idea. He’s not quite sure what he’d have said or done if Ellie had come to him first. “What’s done is done,” he says, smiling sadly. “I’m just worried about what this could mean for the future.” He pauses briefly, biting his lip. “And Mycroft… I’m not sure what he’ll do now.”

“I want to stay with you,” Ellie announces and Greg blinks, surprised. To be honest, he hadn’t even thought Mycroft might try to take their daughter away, but now that she has spoken…

But no. He’s doing his ex lover a disservice by even thinking him capable of such thing. Of course he’s going to  _ insist  _ on seeing Ellie and looking after her, but he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that to Greg.

Would he?

“Don’t worry about that, sweetpea,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss against the top of her head. “It’ll be fine.” He wonders if he should tell Ellie what has him really worried, but he quickly decides there are subjects children are better off not knowing. He doesn’t want to worry or, even worse, _ scare _ her and besides, he’s fairly certain they’re safe, at least for now and if he manages to convince Mycroft…

Well. That’s not really an option, is it? He must convince him of the validity of his concerns, he needs to make him understand the dangers of their situation, he must-

He must do whatever needs to be done to keep his daughter safe.

But, as it’s been said before, it’s too late for that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> The conversation went way better than I originally planned: in my plan it was much more dramatic and didn’t end on a good note but all things considered… I do like it. It’s not what I intended, but it probably works better with what’s coming ;)  
> This was supposed to be my NaNoWriMo project, but there’s no way I’ll manage to finish it by thursday. Still, I shall do my damn best to finish it as soon as possible and then I’ll get back to my regular posting schedule ;) I do have a little fic for the Mystrade Advent Calendar on tumblr, but other than that, I’m not posting anything else until I’m done with this tale ;)  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I once again messed with the POVs order a little, but I swear I have a good reason for it. I good plot-related reason, that is ;) I apologise for the late update but work has been hectic and I caught a nasty cold a few days ago, so I feel all sluggish :(  
> Quick clarification: the first scene takes place on the night before Mycroft & Greg’s meeting on the previous chapter, therefore the same night of his conversation with Moriarty in chapter 9.   
> Anyway, enjoy!

In the romance novels Sherlock would deny to read, it’s quite common for the hero to stare at their love interest while they sleep. For some reason, the hero then entertains the most ridiculous and romantic thoughts, often alluding to how perfect their love interest is, although for the life of him, Sherlock can’t figure out why. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t cut the most flattering picture while he’s asleep and he had always thought that was true for anyone.

Apparently, he was mistaken.

He scrunches his nose in displeasure, annoyed by the fact he has allowed himself to get distracted when he has urgent business to conduct. He just broke into his brother’s house to retrieve a letter, he ought not to get distracted by staring at the sleeping guest. He doubts John would think it romantic to find him here this late at night, although maybe-

He huffs, annoyed with himself and regrets it a second later when John makes a quiet noise of protest. He’s still asleep, he thinks, but he should get going if he doesn’t want to risk discovery.

With that thought in mind he slips out of the room, making sure to close the door quietly after him. He hears John murmuring something, but he doesn’t risk a glance back and instead hurries down the aisle, careful where he steps, his eyes darting around him wildly. In all truth, he could have simply talked to his brother and told him what was going on, but he hadn’t thought it the wisest path to take. Later, he’ll come to wonder if his secrecy costed them precious time, but since he can’t see the future, he thinks he’s doing the right thing.

He picks the lock easily and makes a mental note to suggest his brother to change it. He’s quite proud of how much he has managed to teach his young niece in so short time, but she evidently needs a little more training on lock picking: the lock is now practically useless, so someone would have noticed it had been picked.

He makes a quick work of looking into his brother’s ordinary hiding places, but has little luck. There are certain…  _ curious  _ documents and if he had the time he might peruse them, but he keeps reminding himself  _ why  _ he’s here, not allowing his attention to wander.

A couple of hours later, he must admit defeat. It’s obvious the letter isn’t here, but where then? Mycroft’s actual office seems unlikely, although he supposes it’s the only possible answer: his brother wouldn’t risk hiding it anywhere else. He glances at his pocket watch and curses quietly, realizing it’s too late to make that particular trip; he’d never make it out of the building before other workers started coming in.

He chews his lip, wondering if he should talk to his brother after all. But then, his brother has enough…  _ stuff  _ to deal with, so it’d be better if he deals with this particular issue on his own.

No need to add on his brother’s concerns, after all.

* * *

 

“I take it didn’t go well?” Sherlock asks as soon as his brother steps into his office. He had figured he could risk a quick search while he pretended to wait for him, although unfortunately his search had been fruitless. He does want to know how things went with Lestrade though, even if that’s not the main reason for his presence.

Mycroft sighs, so distracted by his no doubt tangled emotions that he doesn’t even question Sherlock’s presence. He pours himself two fingers of whisky and offers Sherlock a drink too, although the younger man declines it.

It’s entirely too early to be drinking, but Sherlock is not about to mention it.

“He’s… concerned about what could happen to Eleanor if word got out about her being my daughter. I do understand his worries, but I think he’s… exaggerating.”

Sherlock hums, leaning back on his seat. “I think you’re oversimplifying things,” he says, earning himself a dark glare from his brother. “You always have,” he carries on, undeterred. “You’ve always dismissed his concerns as unimportant, because you’ve always thought you’re willing to pay whatever price it might cost you to be with him.”

“I’m-”

“Are you? Are you aware that cost might be Lestrade’s life? You do realize this relationship of yours could have gotten him killed.” Sherlock interrupts sharply, getting a sceptic raised eyebrow for his troubles. “Oh, brother dear. Have you forgotten about the fate of Father’s multiple mistresses?”

“That’s not-”

“Of course, had Mummy found out about you and Lestrade, she would have assumed you were simply  _ scratching an itch,  _ so to speak, so maybe nothing would have happened, but then again, she knew Father didn’t care about any of his mistresses and yet that never stopped her from hurting them so... it was a risk.” Mycroft doesn’t answer, expression dark and haunted and Sherlock wonders if he truly never thought about that. “But even if Lestrade was willing to risk his own life, he wasn’t willing to risk Eleanor’s. What do you think would have happened if you had known he was pregnant? You’d have been thrilled about it, not doubt,;you probably would have married him in a heartbeat! And do you think Mummy would have let you do that?”

Mycroft takes a deep breath, not meeting Sherlock’s eye. “So you think he did the right thing?”

Sherlock sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s… complicated. When I first learned the truth, I’ll admit I thought he acted rather unreasonably but the more I’ve thought about it… it made an awful lot of sense.”

Another deep breath. “Mummy is dead now, though.”

Sherlock hums. “There are other dangers in the world; blackmailers-”

“Do you think I give a damn who finds out about me and Gregory? It’s not like-”

“What you’re failing to consider, brother dear,” Sherlock interrupts sharply once more, standing up so his brother is no longer towering over him. “Is that there are other people who would be willing to hurt Lestrade and/or Eleanor if they thought they could get what they wanted from you in exchange for their safety. And they would have no qualms about it, because you know as well as I do that they would get away with it. The Police could never arrest a Lord without good reason and you know the murder of common folk isn’t one.”

It’s a harsh and unfair truth, but the truth nonetheless. The system is so damn corrupted it’s nearly impossible to get a Lord in jail, no matter which horrible crimes they’ve committed, as long as they were committed against people with no social standing. Sherlock has lost count of how many cases he has seen where the Lords were evidently guilty and yet they were allowed to walk out free.

“What do you think I should do then?” his brother asks after a long pause, not meeting his eyes. “I can’t simply- I do not wish to lose him. Them. Sherlock, I don’t think- I don’t...”

Sherlock sighs, because there’s no easy answer to the question. In fact, he can’t think of a single answer that would allow his brother to continue seeing Lestrade and their daughter, while keeping everyone safe. Perhaps, given the circumstances…

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he murmurs dejectedly, expression infinitely sad. “I think this one might be one of those cases where  _ if you love them, you’ve got to let them go  _ but I- I realize it’s not easy.”

Mycroft lets out a hollow laugh, dropping himself on his usual seat. “It’s not fair,” he murmurs dejectedly and Sherlock bites back Father’s usual response when Sherlock said that: _ life never is. _ “I always thought… I always imagined there was hope in the future for us.”

Sherlock smiles ruefully, staring at the far wall. In the romance novels he most definitely doesn’t read, there’s always some last minute miracle that allows the star-crossed lovers to be together, but life  _ isn’t  _ a romance novel, no matter how much he wishes it could be.

Sometimes, things are just not meant to be.

* * *

 

In books, love always conquers it all.

He’s beginning to think that’s never true in real life.

Sherlock sighs, thinking he shouldn’t allow himself such dramatic thoughts, but he can’t help himself. He’s been feeling quite despondent lately and his conversation with his brother did nothing to help his mood.

Complicated as his relationship with Mycroft might be, he does wish to see him happy. If one of them can be happy, he supposes it’ll be good enough.

As his thoughts go to John, as they usually do when he begins pondering the subject of love, he groans in frustration. It’s true his husband has never shown any particular interest in what Sherlock does, but it doesn’t mean he would be willing to turn a blind eye on an affair. But then, even if he was, Sherlock isn’t quite sure he would want that: he sees no point on just sharing his bed for a few nights, he wants to share his whole life with John.

It’s a fanciful notion. Even if he wasn’t married, he’d face the same problems his brother does. It’s ridiculous that something as the circumstances in which they were born, circumstances they had no control over, have such impact in their lives.

He sighs once more, staring outside the window thoughtfully. It’s raining, which isn’t unusual, but it certainly helps to further darken his mood. He glances at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and he curses quietly, thinking he’s going to need to postpone his little excursion to his brother’s office. While the rain would make it difficult for someone to catch him sneaking in, it’d make the trip more difficult.

He doesn’t think he can afford to continue postponing it, though. God knows what Magnussen is planning and the sooner he knows, the better his chances of doing something about it. He chews his lip, wondering not for the first time if it’d be better to just tell Mycroft what’s happening, but he quickly dismisses the thought.

If he doesn’t find the letter tomorrow night, he’ll talk to Mycroft. 

* * *

 

He had put on as much resistance as he possibly could when his father had told him he was planning on marrying him off. It had involved a long shouting match that had Mummy showing up in his Father’s study, despite her deteriorated health. Of course she had been no help at all, backing up his father instead, despite experience showing that people who don’t want to get married only end up making their partner’s life miserable.

When trying to  _ reason  _ with Father had failed, he had recruited Mycroft’s help. Unfortunately, his brother’s attempts to talk to their father had been as unsuccessful as his own and so he had had to resort to  _ dramatic measures. _

Namely, running away from home.

It had worked with the first fiancé, who had then decided Sherlock was more trouble than he was worth and had called off the engagement. It also worked like a charm the second time around, although it had earned him a nasty beating, courtesy of his irritated father. The third time-

The third time, his fiancé had found his antics  _ charming. _

He knew there was something very wrong with that right away. He also knew that it was in his best interests to actually manage to escape this particular fiancé. Unfortunately, by then his father had learned from his mistakes in the past and reinforced the security to the point Sherlock could barely step out of his room without having a small regiment following him (or at least that’s what it seemed to him).

And so, on a lovely spring day, he had married James Moriarty.

He studies his husband as they dine together, a truly rare occurrence in their house. He might not spend the nights somewhere else when his husband is in town, but he avoids spending time with him as much as he can. He doesn’t like the way the other man watches him, as a predator bidding its time to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. It’s unnerving, to say at least.

He had thought he had been doing a damn good job at playing the reluctant but ultimately clueless and harmless husband, but he’s beginning to suspect the other man has been toying with him the whole time. The prospect is more than a little troubling.

Sherlock forces himself to put on a blank expression when the other man turns to look at him questioningly, quickly pretending his focus was on something else entirely. Moriarty smirks, a slow dangerous smirk that makes a shiver run down Sherlock’s spine, fear gripping him.

He’s realizing he got involved in something much more dangerous than he originally believed.

And yet, as fearful as he is, he can’t deny there’s some thrill in this game he hadn’t realized he’s been playing all along and that he doesn’t want to stop playing, despite the stakes.

And in any case, he’s determined to win.

* * *

 

Sherlock paces around the small office, letting out soft curses every few steps. He managed to recover the letter two nights ago, but of course his elusive husband has been impossible to find ever since. Having lost his patience, he finally decided to show up at his office, knowing full well it would anger the Alpha.

There were a couple of brutish tugs stationed outside the door, but Sherlock knows how to use his  _ charms _ to get his way. The men might be scared of his husband, but they acted exactly as Sherlock expected them to when he turned on his full charm on them.It always annoys him to have to play the role of the incredibly silly and too pretty for their own good Omega, flirting outrageously to distract people from his real intentions, but considering the circumstances…

The door opens then and his husband steps in, whistling a happy tune. When he catches sight of Sherlock he stops dead on his tracks and then arches an eyebrow, amused more than anything else, he suspects.

“ _ Resourceful,  _ indeed,” Moriarty comments, closing the door after him. “My men should know better than to let  _ anyone  _ in.”

“I can be quite… persuasive when I put my mind on it,” Sherlock argues calmly, stopping his desperate pacing. “You haven’t been at the house in two days.”

“And you were concerned?” the other asks amusedly, smirking. “How sweet of you.”

Sherlock huffs, holding out the letter. His husband smirks some more, before stepping close and attempting to snatch the letter away. “No,” Sherlock says, taking one step back. “I want to know what Magnussen is planning first.”

Moriarty huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I refuse to tell you? I don’t think you thought this through, darling: you’re at my mercy here.”

“I’m at your mercy everywhere,” Sherlock argues, annoyed more than anything else. “You’re my Alpha. I’m your property.”

The other man hums, nodding. “Indeed. But, lucky you, I’m on a very good mood today.” He snatches the letter this time and Sherlock glares at him. “And I made you a deal. Regardless of what you might think of me, my dear, you must know I’m a man of my word.”

He pauses, mostly for drama Sherlock suspects, and he finds himself leaning closer, eager, heart beating madly inside his chest. He’s curious, yes and also so very worried. What-

“Tell me, Sherlock dear, do you happen to know where your lovely niece is?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I’m a bit concerned about Sherlock and Mycroft’s conversation, considering how Sherlock and Greg’s conversation in chapter 4 went. I hope it doesn’t feel weird? As I said, my brain feels sluggish due the cold, so I hope I didn’t mess up badly, but let me know if there’s something that doesn’t quite make sense ;)  
> Next update will be hopefully ready soon, if I recover quickly. I just have a hard time focusing on what I’m writing (or anything, really). I spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at nothing because my brain just refused to work :P Hopefully I’ll have less actual work next week too so… here’s to hoping!  
> Thanks for reading! Pretty please let me know what you thought?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so so sorry about the late update! Work has been hectic and then I got distracted by a book I started reading and really didn’t enjoy that much but just couldn’t put it down so… :P  
> Quick note before we begin: the first part takes place shortly after Mycroft and Sherlock’s conversation in the previous chapter while the last part takes place at the same time that Sherlock and Moriarty’s conversation. Hope that helps to make things clear ;)  
> Anyway, here’s the new chapter! I hope you’ll enjoy it!

 Maybe he ought to give himself (and Gregory, of course) some time to think things through. After his conversation with his brother, he understands a bit better his ex lover’s request for Mycroft to stay away, but as he also told Sherlock, he’s reluctant to comply. It might be… selfish of him, no doubt, but he can’t help it.

He thinks of himself as a careful man, one who likes to weight the pros and cons before acting, always making sure to have the upperhand. He’s not the kind of person who’s comfortable taking chances without making sure the odds are in his favour.

In this case though…

Gregory hasn’t said a single word ever since he found him standing outside his building, wrapped up in a heavy coat due the fact it was snowing, holding a small package close to himself (another winter coat for Eleanor, actually). He simply motioned him in and let out a tired sigh while he closed the door after them. He climbed the stairs first, Eleanor following closely with a worried expression on her face and Mycroft had gone last, steps heavy, feeling a bit dejected. He understands on some level, but it still stings.

Gregory heads straight into the kitchen, not even bothering with shedding his snow coated coat. Eleanor watches her father for a beat before shaking her head and taking off her own coat, gesturing for Mycroft to do the same.

He goes to sit at the living room, squirming a bit on the uncomfortable seat. Eleanor remains with him, watching him curiously. There was some wariness in her eyes at first, but whatever concerns she might have had seem to have been dismissed. Mycroft wonders if he did something and then decides he’s becoming paranoid.

“You held back for one and half day. Impressive, really,” Gregory says sarcastically, handing him a cup of freshly made tea. Eleanor opens her mouth to say something but a dark look from her father has her vacating the room quickly, just sending one last pitying glance in Mycroft’s direction. He sighs, taking a small sip of the tea in an effort to warm himself and also buy himself some time to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“I’m sorry. I know you-”

Gregory sighs, shaking his head tiredly. He places his own tea cup on the table and then finally takes off his coat, eying it with some distaste. That’s when Mycroft notices the coat is brand new and far too nice for Gregory to have been able to afford it on his own. He tries to hold back his ridiculous jealousy, because he has no right, no right at all, but-

“Is that it?” he asks, entirely too bitterly, startling the other man due his harsh tone. “Is there someone else?”

He knows it’s an unfair question and a tad cruel perhaps, but he can’t help himself. The other man stares at him unblinkingly for a beat before narrowing his eyes dangerously. “Is that what you think?” he asks, tone dripping with disdain and while ashamed, Mycroft doesn’t back down.

“How else would you have gotten such a nice coat?” he asks, one eyebrow raised and for a second, the hurt on Gregory’s face is plain to see, although he quickly recovers, sneering at him.

“You don’t want to know,” his companion deadpans and Mycroft isn’t sure he’s sneering at him anymore. “Just let it go.”

The implication is clear enough, Mycroft supposes and the mere idea of it horrifies him. Surely- surely he’s gotten it wrong. He opens his mouth to question the other further, but the words die in his lips as he takes in Gregory’s expression.

He’s not looking at him anymore, staring at the far wall instead, a look of raw pain on his face. Mycroft’s heart constricts painfully inside his chest, but while he’s horrified at what his ex lover has had to endure, he’s even more determined to convince him to see things his way.

“Gregory, I-” he stops, unsure of what he can possibly say. The other man has turned to look at him once more, expression blank once again although Mycroft can tell he’s not expecting him to say anything positive. “Please let me take care of you and Eleanor. If nothing else- please do let me support you financially. That way…” he leaves the phrase unfinished, hoping the other will understand his meaning.

For the longest time, Gregory doesn’t speak and when he does, his voice is barely an audible murmur. “Why can’t you understand…?” he pauses, his voice breaking. 

“Gregory, listen to me,” Mycroft says, coming to kneel in front of his ex lover. “I won’t let anyone harm you. Either of you. Please just- I can’t stand staying away. Even less knowing…” he trails off, grasping Gregory’s hands. “Please.”

Next thing he knows Gregory is clinging to him, as if life depended on it, kissing him with the desperation of a drowning man. He knows there’s a lot of talking they still need to do, but for the time being, he supposes this is good enough. 

If only it was that simple.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft holds back a grunt as the crick of his neck starts bothering him once again. He knew insisting on staying at Gregory’s home, despite the fact there was no real place for him to sleep was a bad idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to part, not after their talk. In truth, they hadn’t talked much and instead contented themselves with holding each other close, but, he thinks, they are finally on the right path.

He needs to do something to quell his lover’s fears, he knows, but he’s confident he has the time. After all, nobody knows of their association, at least for the moment and he plans to keep it a secret, at least until he has come up with a good solution for their dilema. Nothing would make him happier than marrying the man he loves and give Eleanor the status of his rightful Heir, but he probably needs to consult a lawyer first, to make sure everything will be in order.

He smiles to himself at the thought. He had done a lot of thinking after his conversation with his brother and after last night; all in all, he thinks marriage is a reasonable and good solution. Gregory might lack status right now, but if he was his husband, he would be as untouchable as if he had been born a lord himself. Or at least he thinks so, although he’s going to need a lawyer to nail down every little detail, to avoid any risk.

_ Marriage,  _ he whispers to himself, delightfully thrilled. He gave Gregory a ruby ring ages ago as a symbol of his commitment, although he thinks they both doubted at the time they would actually marry at some point (although for completely different reasons). It’ll be tricky, he knows and he’ll have some trouble finding a judge willing to officiate the marriage, but he’s willing to use every bit of influence he has to ensure he’ll get his way.

In the meantime though, he admits there’s some risk. He’ll have to be careful about who he lets into his secret: one misstep and the information might end up in the wrong hands which could bring all of Gregory’s fears to life.

But no, he mustn't think about that. Everything will turn out fine, there’s nothing to fear.

Or is there?

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t care for Lord Magnussen’s visits and he’s particularly eager to have him gone today. He has convinced Gregory to have lunch with him and Mycroft isn’t about to be late because the pompous Lord decided to drop by.

“Eager to leave, are we?” the Lord asks, sounding entirely too smug for some reason. The tone puts Mycroft immediately on edge: he might have never been an actual victim of the man’s schemes, but he’s familiar enough with his methods. He’s confident he has nothing on him, but considering…

“Whatever you think you have on me, you should know it won’t work.”

Magnussen smirks, standing up slowly, still looking too smug. “We’ll see,” he says calmly, holding Mycroft’s stare evenly. “Say hello to Mr. Lestrade for me.”

And with that he’s gone, having effectively  _ frightened  _ Mycroft. Of all the people in the world…

Damn it all!

 

* * *

 

Gregory’s face turns ashen at the sole mention of Lord Magnussen and Mycroft knows right away the man does know something. When Gregory tells him  _ how  _ he knows the lord and what has happened between them, his whole world turns red, every insistic in his body demanding him to take action. How dares that vile man to lie his foul hands on his Mate?

“Mycroft,” Gregory urges, placing one hand on top of his, rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles. Mycroft realizes he’s growling and then he notices the tension on his partner’s shoulders, so he forces himself to stop. He blushes a little, embarrassed of having let his most basic instincts get the best of him and hurries to squeeze his lover’s hand, wanting to reassure him he’s not angry at him but not wanting to risk a more affectionate demonstration.

“I’m sorry,” Gregory murmurs softly, pulling away somewhat reluctantly, biting his lip. “I didn’t… it’s not… I wouldn’t have if…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders dejectedly, not meeting his eyes. “You should probably know… he wasn’t… he wasn’t the only one.”

Mycroft clenches his jaw and Gregory flinches, trying to make himself as small as possible on instinct. The Alpha forces himself to take a few deep breaths before speaking, not wanting his anger to get the best of him, so his companion won’t misinterpret his words.

“There’s nothing you have to be sorry of,” he assures him, squeezing his hand once more. “They’re the ones who should be ashamed of themselves.”

Gregory lets out an incredulous little laugh that makes Mycroft’s stomach constrict painfully, so he squeezes his hand once again, a little stronger. “I love you,” he assures him softly, leaning close so they may not be overheard, although he’s not sure it matters anymore. “Nothing could ever change that. But please believe me, there’s nothing you should be embarrassed of.”

His companion nods, not fully convinced, but not wanting to argue. Mycroft makes a mental note to hunt down every person who ever dared to make his Mate feel like he was the one doing something shameful and make them pay dearly for it.

“It is quite worrying though,” Gregory says after a lengthy pause. “If he knows about us… it’s very likely he knows about Eleanor.” He can’t quite contain the shiver running down his spine and neither does Mycroft. “After all the precautions I took… all these years apart…”

“Magnussen is the worst of the worst,” he says, his tone dripping with disgust. “I’m not sure how he found out, but I’ll make sure he regrets having come to that knowledge.”

“Mycroft, I- I don’t- Eleanor isn’t-”

“Don’t worry,” he insists, trying to sound more confident than he is. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

 

* * *

 

Magnussen is not one to make idle threats, so Mycroft assumes he’ll be making his move any of these days. He tells himself he’ll be prepared for it, but in truth he’s not quite sure what he can do. Other than paying someone to watch over Gregory and Eleanor all day and night long, all he can do is wait and see.

His precautions, as it turns out, are useless.

Gregory shows up the following night, despite the fact it’s snowing heavily once more, looking and acting like a madman. The servants are reluctant to let him in, but Mycroft hears his voice calling for him all his way to his office and he hurries to see what’s going on.

The other man throws himself into his arms, crying in earnest and Mycroft isn’t sure how to react. He dismisses the servants, who are watching them curiously and continues holding his partner, trying to calm him down so he can tell him what’s going on.

“Eleanor is missing,” Gregory says finally, between sobs, his voice strained and barely understandable, but Mycroft understands and his blood runs cold.

Good lord, what are they going to do?

 

* * *

 

“You’ll hand my daughter back right in this instant or I swear to god-”

“That you will do what, Lord Holmes?” the other man argues calmly, not even bothering to stand up, dismissing the guards that have followed Mycroft into the office in an attempt to stop him. “You’re in no position to make any demands, you realize,” he adds, gesturing for him to take a seat, which Mycroft stubbornly refuses.

“What do you want?” he demands, leaning menacingly over the desk, eyes narrowed. “Out with it already.”

Magnussen tsks, picking up his glass of whisky and swirling it absentmindedly. “Such appealing manners, really. Your father would be horrified.” Mycroft glares but doesn’t comment and the older man smirks. “Although I dare to say he would have been quite relieved to learn you were actually screwing one of the servants and were not the monk he believed you to be.”

“Don’t you dare-”

A dramatic sigh. “As I said before, you’re in no position to make any demands here, Lord Holmes,” Magnussen says again, eyes alight with wicked delight. “I must say I completely understand why Mr. Lestrade caught your fancy for so long; he’s a magnificent fu-”

The word hasn’t left completely his lips and Mycroft has already thrown himself at the other man. He manages to land a couple of punches before his good sense makes him pull back, although his blood is still buzzing with rage.

Magnussen is laughing though, apparently completely unaffected by Mycroft’s violent reaction. His lip is swelling already, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit, smugness radiating from him and Mycroft can’t help to shiver; it’s clear the other man is going to make things as difficult as possible.

“I shall be contacting you very soon, Lord Holmes,” Magnussen says, sitting back on his chair, wincing when he prods his swelling lip to asses the damage. He offers Mycroft one last smug smile before sending him on his way and while he’s still seething with rage, Mycroft understands there’s nothing else he can do right now.

He forces himself to leave the office, his mind swirling with possibilities. He’s not sure what he’s going to do now, but he knows for sure he won’t allow Eleanor to come to any harm, no matter what it might cost him.

And he knows for certain it’s going to cost him dearly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
> In my original plan, things went a bit differently but as soon as I started writing, of course the characters did whatever they wanted. They just never listen to me!
> 
> But I do hope it doesn’t feel rushed. I ended up editing a few scenes, taking out quite a bit of the dialogue, but I’m not sure if that made it better or not :P
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!
> 
> BTW, I’ve posted my contribution to the Mystrade Advent Calendar, you can read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12916950). It’s a fluffy one-shot, in case you’re in need of some happiness and you can find the rest of the works [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/mystradeadventcalendar); I highly recommend checking them out!
> 
>  


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new update! I struggled a bit with this chapter, but I managed to come up with something that works, or at least I hope so :P I’m bad at action scenes, really :P  
> Anyway… I hope you’ll enjoy it regardless!

A quick glance at his pocket watch tells him his shift ended one hour ago. 

John sighs, placing his instruments back on the table next to the slab, surveying the corpse on top it with clinical detachment. His knee is protesting quite strongly against continueing standing, but he feels he’s onto something. If only-

But the weather is quite dreadful and his knee finally has had enough, making him almost fall down when his leg starts cramping. He sighs, hurrying to make some last minute annotations and making sure everything is in order before he exits the lab.

The dead man is not going anywhere, after all.

He hadn’t imagined working at the morgue when he had started med school, but all in all it’s a good job. It pays decently and more importantly, it makes him feel useful when the police manages to catch a criminal thanks to his work. There are days though-

Too much death and nothing he can do about it, he thinks dejectedly as he makes his way through the empty street. It has stopped snowing, thank god, but his leg does feel a bit weak and so he finds himself slowing down. He doesn’t even remember his old injury on good days, but when the temperature drops, he finds it hard to think about anything else.

All in all, having gotten away with just a lame leg after being run over by a horse is quite lucky. Of course, if John had been paying more attention to his surroundings or if the rider had had better control of said horse-

Nothing for it now, of course.

He sighs, consoling himself with thoughts of the warm meal waiting for him at home. It was Greg’s turn to pick up Ellie and prepare dinner for them, for which John is thankful. He doesn’t think he could handle walking all the way to Ellie’s school and back home, let alone remain standing while he cooks dinner. No sir, on nights like this he doesn’t feel like doing anything really and if he could afford a cab, he’d take one, although there are none in sight right now. 

Lost in his thoughts as he is, he fails to notice there’s someone following him and so he’s quite startled when he gets pulled into a dark alley. In truth, he’s a good fighter, but the weather is conspiring against him and so he finds himself being dragged along for a few feet, not managing to shake off his attacker.

He gets pushed against the wall and John curses loudly. His opponent is much taller than him, but weaker and if he could- “John,” Sherlock whispers urgently, leaning so close their noses are practically touching. “It’s just me. I’m sorry for the manhandling, but I couldn’t risk someone seeing us.”

John stops struggling, relaxing almost immediately. Sherlock’s cheeks are flushed, probably due the cold, but considering their proximity, John can’t help considering other scenarios in which he could get that lovely color on Sherlock’s cheeks. He chides himself immediately, reminding himself why he shouldn’t even contemplate such thoughts and quickly finds himself tensing once more, wondering what’s going on now.

“What happened?” he asks, honestly concerned. As far as he knows, Sherlock’s husband is still in the city and so he doubts his friend would be looking for him (risking discovery) if the matter wasn’t urgent.

“I need your help,” Sherlock replies, pulling away a little, eyes darting to the alley’s opening, evidently worried someone might come along. “I… it’s a somewhat urgent matter.”

Leg pain long forgotten, John nods solemnly. “Anything. Anything for you.”

Sherlock’s eyes land on him once more, his piercing stare seemingly reading into his very soul and John holds his stare evenly. “Those are dangerous words, Dr. Watson,” he says very seriously, tone low, and a shiver runs down John’s spine.

“It’s the simple truth,” he argues calmly, although his heart is beating erratically. He licks his lips and notices the way Sherlock’s eyes trail the movement, the air filled with tension between them.

He’s not quite sure who kisses who first, all he knows is that they’re suddenly kissing furiously, his hands holding onto the lapels of Sherlock’s coat as if life itself depended on it, while one of Sherlock’s hands is buried in his hair, pulling lightly at the strands, while the other cups his jaw with infinite tenderness.

They have to pull away eventually, if only to catch their breaths and then John is half tempted to kiss the other man once again, nevermind the setting is far from ideal: it has started snowing once more and he’s honestly freezing, but with Sherlock’s body pressed so close, he can’t bring himself to care. Still, he can’t completely forget his friend seems to be in some kind of trouble; a problem so big he was compelled to look for him, regardless of the dangers it could entail.

“What do you need?” he asks, not quite relishing his hold on the coat lapels, keeping their bodies close in an effort to share body heat but also not wanting to let go of the other man.

Sherlock’s eyes bore into his once more while he chews on his lip lightly. “It is very dangerous,” he repeats, “but I do think you’d be compelled to help, even if…” he trails off awkwardly, gesturing between them. “Something… I… I think something has happened to Eleanor.”

John tenses immediately, eyes going very wide, all other thoughts fleeing his mind. “What happened?” he demands, a tad harshly, but Sherlock doesn’t seem to mind. He can tell the younger man is just as concerned as himself and perhaps a tad scared; while that’s not a good thing, he’s confident his friend has a plan of action already.

As Sherlock begins telling him what his husband has revealed, John’s whole focus turns on the matter at hand. Later he’ll contemplate what has just happened between them and try to figure out where they go from there, but for now-

For now there are more pressing concerns to handle.

* * *

 

The snow makes walking difficult, but it also makes them practically impossible to spot, so they make their way steadily towards their destination without fear of being discovered. John holds Sherlock’s hand tightly, both for practicality and comfort, trailing after the younger man with some difficulty, his leg protesting all the while.

In truth, he’s not sure he’ll be of much use if they have to fight someone, but he couldn’t let Sherlock go on his own, not on good conscience. They could have waited until tomorrow, of course and even recruit Mycroft’s and Greg’s help, but time is of the essence. Sherlock has conjectured Ellie will be kept in London for a couple of days at most and after that… 

Well. The sooner they act, the better.

When they arrive to their destination, John stares at the manor, unconvinced. He doesn’t think it’s a particular smart move and considering what he knows about Lord Magnussen, he knows the man is as smart as he’s heartless, but Sherlock is confident their little niece is being held here, at least for the time being.

“How are we going to get in?” John asks, trying to survey their surroundings although it’s nearly impossible due the heavy snow. He looks at Sherlock, who has pulled his pocket watch out and seems to be considering something. “Sherlock?”

“I don’t have any first hand information on the habits of the people in the house,” he murmurs, putting his watch back inside his coat. “We’ll have to trust my husband’s information.”

John isn’t sure that’s a good idea, but he doesn’t say so. They’re here already and while the plan might be a little crazy, he doesn’t think he can leave now.

“In a few minutes, someone will step out to feed the dogs. We’ll sneak in then.”

John thinks there are a million things that could go wrong, but he keeps quiet and follows after his friend, getting closer to the house, keeping themselves as well hidden as they can, although he doubts there’s anyone staring outside the window.

God, he hopes they’ll succeed.

But he doesn’t like the odds one bit.

* * *

 

As Sherlock said, a maid steps out shortly after and they hurry to sneak in while her back is turned. The wind covers the sound of their steps and the woman is too busy trying to get the dogs to calm down, which are barking loudly. Poor animals are probably freezing although maybe the reason of their barking is to inform of the strangers’ presence.

They slip through the half open door, which happens to lead into the kitchen. They shake the snow off their clothes to the best of their ability, but they’ll have to hope the maid doesn’t notice the snow trails. The place is dark, just illuminated by a single candle and thankfully empty, probably due the late hour. It’s likely most servants have head to bed already and so the poor unfortunate maid feeding the dogs is the only one still up, so they stand in one of the dark corners, holding very still, waiting with baited breath for the maid to be done with her task.

They stand in silence for a long while, long after no sound can be heard from outside the kitchen. There’s no light but the moonlight and so John can barely make out the contour of his friend’s body, which only helps to increase his nervousness, but he keeps reminding himself  _ why  _ they’re here and that strengthens his resolve somewhat. He hopes Ellie is doing fine: she’s a brave girl, but the circumstances are no doubt terrifying.

“I think we can move now,” Sherlock murmurs some time later, moving towards the kitchen’s entrance. “Magnussen should be the only one up right now.”

“What- Are we going to look for him?” John asks, honestly perplexed. He had assumed they would be looking for Ellie and would break her out, not that they would…  _ talk  _ to her kidnapper.

Sherlock hums absentmindedly, pulling something out of his coat and John’s breath catches as he realizes it’s a gun. Before John can even open his mouth to say something, Sherlock is already hurrying down the deserted hall.

John curses inwardly and hurries after him, praying they won’t need to use the gun, but knowing deep down they will.

God, what has he gotten himself into?

* * *

 

“Well, this is an unexpected visit,” Lord Magnussen comments off handedly, expression neutral. “To what I owe the honor?” he adds sarcastically, standing up very slowly when Sherlock points the gun at him. Behind him, John gulps nervously.

“You know why I’m here,” Sherlock announces calmly, holding the gun steadily. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand my niece back without a fuss.”

The other lord hums, looking too calm for someone who has a gun pointed at their face. “You’re not going to shoot, Sherlock dear,” he says, a slight smirk on his lips. “You don’t have it in you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sherlock argues back, expression completely devoid of any emotion. “Would you like to test your theory?” he asks, cocking the gun and Magnussen arches an eyebrow.

“I must say I never understood your husband’s…  _ fascination _ with you,” the older man says, stepping closer. “But I think I’m starting to see the appeal. You’re unpredictable, for certain.”

“Where is my niece?” Sherlock demands, carefully enunciating each word. Magnussen stares at him for a beat, smirking once more.

“I certainly didn’t see this coming,” the lord continues, as if Sherlock hadn’t spoken at all. “But as I told your brother earlier- all in good time.”

“You seem to be under the impression we’re negotiating,” Sherlock states, tone deadly cold. “You are mistaken.”

“Oh, no,” Magnussen says, tone threatening. “You’re the one who’s mistaken.”

John can’t help the yelp that escapes him when he feels the tip of a gun being pressed against the back of his head. Sherlock turns around sharply, eyes very wide, taking a step towards him and then holding still when the tug holding John threatens to shoot him.

Damn it, this isn’t good.

“You and your brother are much more similar than you think, Sherlock,” the lord says, earning himself a heated glare from the younger man. “And you’ve made the same mistakes.”

John gulps, nervous but refusing to panic just yet. Sherlock is staring at him with frightened eyes and John wants to do or say something to reassure him, although at this point he’s not sure how he’s going to survive this.

A loud noise coming from the corridor proves enough distraction for him to manage to hit his captor on the stomach, making him doble over. He hears a gunshot closely followed by another one and he hurries to knock out his own opponent before turning to Sherlock, who is staring at the now dead man at his feet.

John isn’t quite sure what happened, but they don’t have time for explanations. Sherlock is shaking badly and while John would normally be reluctant to have him move, let alone run in his current state, he knows they have no other choice. With the snow, it’ll be a while before anyone can raise the alarm and even longer before the police can make it here, but there might be people inside the house ready to apprehend them and hold them in while they wait for the snow to pass.

He’s about to tell Sherlock this when he notices they’re not alone in the room anymore.

Eleanor is standing by the door, shaking as a leaf, looking terrified. John hesitates for a beat before hurrying towards the girl and picking her up, holding her close to his chest while he murmurs soothing nonsense against her ear.

“We need to get out,” Sherlock says, appearing next to them, looking pale but calmer. “Now,” he urges, taking John’s arm and the doctor nods, somewhat absentmindedly.

He thinks he might be in shock, but then, so are his companions.

He’s not sure what to think about that.

* * *

 

Their actual escape is a blur in John’s mind. Next thing he knows they’re in a cab, huddled together for warmth and comfort, Ellie asleep with her head on his shoulder. None of them has said a word since they left the manor and John thinks it’s probably better like this.

“Where are we going?” he asks finally, thinking there’s nothing he’d rather do than to take a long nap. Sherlock, who had been staring outside the window turns to him, a light frown on his face. 

“My brother’s,” he says with a shrug. “Lestrade is probably with him and I’m sure they’ll both want to know their daughter is safe.”

John nods, running his fingers through Ellie’s messy curls. “Are you alright?” he asks kindly, eyes soft.

“Yes,” Sherlock deadpans, looking outside the window once more. “He wasn’t a nice man and the world is better off without him,” he adds after a short pause, more to himself than to John.

“Indeed,” the doctor agrees. “But it’s normal to feel…  _ bad _ about it. In fact, I’d probably worry if you didn’t.”

A slight smile comes unbidden to Sherlock lips, but he doesn’t look at John again. John sighs, leaning back on his seat and closing his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.

What a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I hope those last scenes weren’t painful to read: as I said, action isn’t really my forte. On the bright side though, the villain (one of them at least) is dead and the promised happy ending is just around the corner (well… in a few chapters)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It took me forever to work how I wanted this chapter to go and while I’m not completely satisfied with it since the plot is definately not moving forward (or not much) but I can now happily skip an scene that was being difficult so… well ;)  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll like it!

The weight of the small kit of lock picking tools in her coat pocket is comforting in a way she can’t quite explain. Uncle Sherlock gave it to her just a couple of days ago, advising her to keep it with her at all times since you never know when you might need it, although she doubts he expected her to need them this soon or for this. She’s thankful for the advice, all the same, since it has helped her escape the room she was being held in.

Now, if only she could find a way outside the manor…

She moves quietly and quickly, mindful not to get anyone’s attention. She’s lucky her captors have underestimated her, so there was nobody guarding her makeshift prison, but if someone sees her, she’ll be done for.

Unfortunately, the house is too big and full of servants, so the chances of running into someone are rather high. She had thought the place would be deserted by now, but she had miscalculated the hour and so she’s forced to hide inside a small closet, waiting for the servants to go to bed so she can continue her search for an exit in peace.

She knows it’s cold outside and she has no idea where she is, but she’d rather risk freezing outside than wait in here for something to happen. She barely caught a glimpse of the man who orchestrated her kidnapping, but she gets the impression she doesn’t want to interact with him at all.

Ellie sighs, frustrated at her current situation. She knows she needs to leave as soon as she can, because it’s likely someone will eventually check on her and so they’ll know she has managed to escape. And yet, since she doesn’t know her way around the house, she can’t risk looking for an exit with so many people around. It’s not ideal, certainly, but there’s nothing to be done.

All she can do is hope for the best.

* * *

 

When the house falls quiet, Ellie hurries out of her hiding place. There’s very little light coming through the windows, which makes it hard to see and so she has to be extra careful so she won’t bump into something, which in turn makes her walk very slowly. She can feel her heart beating madly inside her chest, but she keeps reminding herself not to panic.

She’ll be fine. She’s confident she’ll find a way out and afterwards…

Well. Hopefully she won’t freeze to death.

She walks for what it feels like an eternity, until voices coming from one of the rooms make her stop dead on her feet. She recognizes Sherlock’s voice and her heart skips a beat, relief flooding her veins. She steps closer to the voices, no longer caring about making noise and realizes her mistake a few seconds later, when she’s finally close enough to make out the words that are being spoken.

Damn. This isn’t good.

She risks a quick glance inside the room, just in time to see uncle John being threatened with a gun pressed to the back of his head. She gasps and quickly covers her mouth, chiding herself for being foolish. She retreats to the shadows, her brain going on overdrive, coming up with plan after plan and dismissing them just as quickly.

She finally comes to the conclusion that creating a distraction is her only option. With a sigh, she looks around the hallway, her eyes landing on a crystal case on the far side. She scrunches her nose as she takes in the size of it and its weight. It’s not ideal, but she has no other choice.

She takes some steps back before breaking into a sprint and throwing herself with all her might against the case, which falls down with a great crash. Her side starts throbbing right away, but she has no time to focus on that, especially not when she hears the gunshots.

She hurries back towards the room where her uncles were, heart beating erratically. If they’re hurt… worst, if they’re dead…

But luck is on their side, apparently. The tug holding John is now unconscious and judging by the pool of blood underneath the other unknown man’s head, she supposes she can safely assume he’s dead.

Her keen hearing picks up the sounds of people moving around the basement, where the servants quarters must be and she knows they have to move now. Unfortunately, the adrenaline rush is starting to fade, letting shock settle in. She can’t move, no matter how loudly her brain keeps screaming at her to. Luckily, just then uncle John catches sight of her and sweeps her in his arms, muttering comforting words against her ear. She lets out a tiny whimper, fear finally catching up with her and she buries her face on her uncle’s neck, comforting herself with the familiar scent, barely aware they’re moving, leaving the house behind.

She’s safe now and that’s what matters.

* * *

 

Papa throws his arms around her, pulling her as closely as possible. She’s openly crying now and Papa is doing his best not to cry too, so he won’t upset her further. She hears the commotion going around them, with Father yelling at Sherlock for being reckless and Sherlock yelling right back, but she can’t focus on anything that’s not the comforting scent of Papa and his warmth.

“You’re safe now,” Papa promises quietly, kissing the top of her head. “No one is taking you away from me ever again.” She’s vaguely aware of the look her fathers are sharing over her head and she can feel the way Papa tenses, but then uncle John suggests they might want to get their story straight in case the police shows up and Father reluctantly agrees to step outside for a while.

She can feel everyone’s tension and fear, but she can’t quite focus on anything or think about what might happen now.

She’s home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know! It’s so short! And considering how long it took me to update… well. But I did struggle quite a lot while figuring out what I wanted to do and in the end I’m somewhat happy with the result so… I don’t know.   
> Next chapter shouldn’t take me that long to finish, since I actually have an idea what I want to write, but who knows? In any case, I’ve promised myself I’ll have this finished before the New Year so… I shall make do ;) Even with my mom visiting and the holidays and the family dinners and my birthday coming up… I’ll finish this, no matter what! :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought, pretty please?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It was quick, wasn’t it? Quicker than the previous update, in any case ;)  
> We’re approaching the end of our tale, although how well everything is coming together has me a bit worried, in terms of whether or not it makes sense but well… hopefully it’s working ;)  
> Enjoy!

Mycroft pinches the bridge of his nose in an effort to control his temper. He’s thankful for what his brother did, honestly, but he can’t help to also feel terrified at the implications. He knows there’s no way in hell Sherlock politely asked Magnussen to give Eleanor back and the Lord compiled just like that.

Now, if Sherlock has stricken a deal… well, he supposes he could handle that, but he gets the impression that’s not the case.

“What did you do?” he asks as calmly as he can, watching John from the corner of his eye. His brother knows how to disguise his reactions, to reveal as little as possible, to be deceitful if needed but the doctor is much easier to read.

As expected, his brother just holds his stare stubbornly, chin held high, while John makes a face as if he’s been gutted.

Oh. This can’t be good. “Sherlock-”

“Magnussen is dead,” his brother informs him, dispassionately.

God dammit. “Did you kill him?” Mycroft asks, forcing himself to remain calm. “Or was it John?”

“What difference does it make?” Sherlock argues flippantly and Mycroft growls in frustration.

“It makes all the difference in the world!” he yells, slamming his hands against his desk. “We have a dead Lord in our hands! The police will investigate! You know the penalty for murdering a Lord: John will be dead by the end of the week if-”

“He didn’t do it!” Sherlock cries out. “I did it! He took my niece and then dared to threaten my Mate! Of course I bloody murdered him! I was well within my rights!”

A tense silence falls upon them and Mycroft rubs his temples tiredly in an effort to chase away his incoming headache. “Sherlock… John isn’t your Mate,” he says slowly, tone full of regret. He can see John’s pained expression from the corner of his eye, but now is not the time to focus on that. “And Eleanor… she’s not technically your niece.” Those last words pain him too, since they’re a painful reminder of why his lover decided it was better if he didn’t know he had sired a child.

Sherlock doesn’t answer, just continues glaring stubbornly and Mycroft sighs, looking away. If Sherlock is telling the truth, the situation might not be as dire as he fears: they just need to come up with a plausible reason for Sherlock to be at Lord Magnussen’s house and dismiss the whole incident as self defense. He scrunches his nose in displeasure, thinking they might need to recruit his brother-in-law’s help to make the whole story more believable, but if it keeps his baby brother out of jail…

“There might be some… complications,” John says, stepping closer to Sherlock, but not quite close enough to touch. “There was a… bodyguard of sorts. He- I knocked him out, but he was alive when we left.”

Mycroft hums. A witness could be problematic, but he’s fairly certain that’s a matter that a handsome sum can solve. He doubts anyone working for Lord Magnussen was actually fond of the man, so that shouldn’t be a problem.

“I’ll sort that out,” he assures them calmly, leaning back on his seat, his tiredness finally catching up with him. “For now… you might want to get some sleep.” He notices the look his brother and John share, but quickly tells himself not to get involved. It’s evident things have gotten out of control between them two, but it’s really none of Mycroft’s business. He might need to get involved if his brother-in-law finds out, but for now-

Sherlock nods slowly, as if considering saying something else and then exits the room without a word. John follows closely, one hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and Mycroft sighs, turning to stare at the ceiling.

What a night.

* * *

 

Eleanor is already asleep by the time he finally makes it to the guest bedroom. Gregory sits by her side, running his fingers through her curls, visibly more compossed than an hour ago, but the haunted look on his face hasn’t disappeared completely.

He looks up when he hears the door opening and offers Mycroft a brief smile, before turning back to his daughter and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. He stands up then and goes to Mycroft, gesturing for him to step out with him.

Mycroft sighs, bracing himself for what it’s to come. He couldn’t hold it against Gregory if he wanted to leave after what has just happened; he’s not selfish enough to ask him to stay and put their daughter at risk once more, although-

Gregory leads him back to the master bedroom, closing the door after him. There’s something in his eyes Mycroft can’t quite name, but before he can even open his mouth to speak, Gregory has pressed his lips to his, effectively silencing him.

This isn’t what he was expecting and a part of him is wary of the new development, but it’s been far too long since he had this and his brain is too tired to try to make sense of what’s happening. He kisses the other back, relishing the way their bodies seem to fit so well together, urging his lover to press closer, one hand on the small of his back, the other on the nape of his neck, holding him in place.

They kiss for the longest time, barely parting for breath and next thing he knows he’s sitting on the corner of the bed, Gregory on top of him, quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt, still kissing him desperately and while there’s a voice in the back of Mycroft’s head urging him to stop and analyze the situation, he can’t bring himself to listen.

In many ways, it’s a lot like the first time they had sex. He remembers the desperation he could taste in Gregory’s lips and he imagines his partner could taste it in his too; the careless way they had divested each other from their clothes, the way they had clung to one another, as if afraid the other would disappear if they didn’t hold them close enough.

In other ways, it’s even better. They do know what each other likes, despite all the time that has passed and the kisses taste of desperation, yes, but also of love and longing and hope.

Later, when the pleasure has passed but they’re still locked together, Mycroft presses a kiss to Gregory’s forehead, earning himself a happy and full of contentment hum and he smiles, confident everything will work out.

He has the man he loves back, their daughter is safe and nothing else matters.

* * *

 

He wakes up alone and fear seizes him immediately. The voice in the back of his mind that kept insisting he needed to stop making love to Gregory and think about what was happening is now chiding him for not seeing the truth sooner: last night was an ending, not a beginning.

He groans, covering his face with his hands, annoyed at himself for being so foolish. He understands, of course and if Gregory has decided to leave he won’t be going after him: he’ll respect his wishes, even if it kills him, but-

The door opens and his heart does a summersault at finding his lover by the door, holding a breakfast tray in his hands. Gregory offers him a small embarrassed smile and closes the door after him, placing the tray on the night table before coming to sit on the bed.

“I…” Gregory begins nervously, licking his lips and Mycroft can’t help to trace the movement with his eyes. He knows there are pressing matters they need to discuss, but after last night… “About last night…”

His heart plummets to his feet, but he forces himself to smile anyway. That doesn’t sound reassuring, not at all, but all things considered-

Gregory sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “This week has been… intense. And last night I just… I felt… it just has been so long since I… since we…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely, his cheeks a lovely red colour. “I think we should have talked first.”

Mycroft shrugs non committedly, his eyes fixed on Gregory’s lips despite his best intentions of not pressuring him into anything. He loves the man with all his heart and he wants him to stay with him more than life itself, but he’ll be content with what he can get.

“I always feared someone would find out about us,” Gregory says after a brief pause to gather his thoughts. “I knew your mother wouldn’t… I knew your father would assume you were doing just as he did, but I wasn’t sure what your mother would do. So I was worried, yes, but not… terrified. And then when I found out I was pregnant… I saw no other solution.” He pauses again, biting his lip. “But that was 8 years ago. We were barely 20, I didn’t think… I just…” He takes Mycroft hands in his, squeezing softly. “I was scared. I still am. But I’m older and hopefully wiser and I’m done running. I want us to be a family. For myself, of course, and for Eleanor, who deserves to get to know her other father.”

Mycroft blinks, still processing the words. Could it be-? “Does that mean… what I think it means?”

Gregory smiles, although he still looks worried. “I think so, yes. But Mycroft there’s… there are so many things to consider. When Lord Magnussen kidnapped Ellie, I… I couldn’t…” he interrupts himself, closing his eyes, trying to get his emotions back under control, “I can’t go through that again.”

“We won’t,” Mycroft promises earnestly. “I… I’ll do everything in my power to ensure the safety of both of you.”

Gregory nods, chewing his lip lightly. “Yes, I believe you’ll do. I don’t know how Lord Magnussen found out-”

“I’ll figure that out-”

“But I don’t think I can keep on living with the constant fear of… it’s just… it’s not fair at all.”

“I know,” Mycroft agrees, kissing his forehead. “But I have a plan for that already.”

“So Sherlock tells me,” Gregory murmurs, a slight smile on his lips. “It’s a good plan,” he murmurs, sliding closer to Mycroft. “I always wanted to marry you.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to be a quiet quick affair,” Mycroft argues, smiling too, placing a hand on the nape of Gregory’s neck, making the other man shiver. “There’s no time to waste.”

Gregory nods, leaning closer to kiss him and for a long while, there are no more words said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> It’s short, I know, but these last chapters are bound to be like that, I think. I hope Greg’s decision doesn’t seem out of nowhere, but I promise when we see his POV we’ll get to see what exactly he’s thinking ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It’s short and a bit on the unhappy side… but I swear everyone will get the happy ending I promised, even if it looks rather… impossible right now ;)  
> Enjoy!

They stand outside Mycroft’s study for the longest time, just staring at each other. Sherlock knows he should say something; acknowledge their earlier kiss at the very least, but he’s not sure that it’ll do either of them any good, particularly considering…

“I should go,” he murmurs finally, avoiding John’s eyes, scared he’ll see his own feelings mirrored in the other man’s. “I… my husband is probably expecting me back.”

John nods tightly, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes too. “It’s probably a good idea,” he murmurs softly, dejected. “As your brother said, we should probably get some sleep. It was a… difficult night.”

_ Difficult  _ doesn’t really begin to cover it. “At least everyone is safe now,” Sherlock whispers, staring at his feet, feeling vaguely sick. The words he longs to say taste bitter in back of his mouth, but he refuses to speak them anyway.

“Yes,” John agrees quietly, biting his lip. “Sherlock, I-” he interrupts himself, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Goodnight.”

Sherlock nods, his heart feeling entirely too heavy in his chest. He turns around and forces himself to walk away, despite every insistic in his body urging him to turn back and  _ speak. _

But he doesn’t. Instead he walks back into the living room where Lestrade is talking in hushed tones to an already asleep Eleanor. He sits next to the older man, who offers him a small teary smile and Sherlock finds himself returning it, despite the fact that smiling is the last thing he feels like doing.

They talk quietly for a few minutes, mostly Lestrade thanking him over and over again and Sherlock offers some encouraging words, hoping Lestrade won’t leave again. He doesn’t think his brother could handle it.

Although he can’t be with the man he loves, at least he can try to help his brother keep his own beloved.

* * *

 

“Rough night?”

Sherlock can hear his husband’s smirk, although he can’t really see him in the low light and he makes a face, annoyed already. He drops himself on his usual chair in the living room, ignoring his husband’s pointed stare, stalling for time to gather his thoughts.

“You could say so,” he replies finally, turning to stare at the other man. Moriarty smirks widely, leaning back on his seat and stapling his fingers together underneath his chin. Sherlock watches him in silence for a beat, before shaking his head, frustration colouring his tone. “You were hoping I’d kill Magnussen.”

“Or your doctor,” Moriarty replies, shrugging casually while Sherlock’s blood runs cold. “It didn’t particularly matter to me as long as the job got done.”

Sherlock leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

His husband’s smirk widens, “let’s just say… blackmailers aren’t good for business.”

Sherlock considers this for a beat, his eyes fixed on the other man’s face, trying to figure out what he’s not saying, but in the end it doesn’t really matter: what’s done is done and while the fact that he was manipulated into doing his husband’s dirty work sits ill with him, there’s nothing he can do now.

“So, what happens now?” he asks finally, trying to sound casual and not quite succeeding. If his husband felt so inclined, he could use Magnussen’s death to get rid of Sherlock once and for all, or, even worse, get John out of the way, so-

“I imagine the Police will do its usual mediocre work, your brother will pull as many strings as needed and I go along with whatever silly story he comes up with.” He smirks, relishing Sherlock’s utter bafflement. “You did me a favour, darling. It’s only fair.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes, not believing him for a second and Moriarty laughs, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Sherlock stands up slowly, not really wanting to leave but figuring that given the circumstances it’s better not to anger his husband, although-

“Oh, and darling,” the Alpha calls for him before he has exited the room and Sherlock turns, expression wary. “Do not worry your pretty little head about your doctor. I don’t particularly care about who you choose to screw when I’m not around.”

Sherlock can feel his temper flaring at the crude words, but he forces himself to ignore them and continue walking, not raising to the bait.

There’s simply not point to it.

* * *

 

Dealing with the Police is… tedious, at best. If Sherlock wasn’t a Lord he has no doubt they’d have already thrown him in jail at the very least, or executed him in all likelihood, without even giving him the chance to defend himself. As things stand though, they simply interrogate him and then let him go without a fuss.

For a couple of days he worries they’ll find something that will place John at the crime scene and he knows that if that came to pass, they’d never believe Sherlock was the one who pulled the trigger, no matter what the rest of the evidence said. A Lord’s murdering shouldn’t go unpunished: it just doesn’t look well. And so, if there was a way to punish someone, no matter whether or not they had actually killed said Lord, they’d happily do it.

The news make it to the front page of every newspaper, but no one is particularly bothered by Magnussen’s death. The man had no actual friends and he was blackmailing his “allies” and business partners more often than not, so there’s no one to mourn his death.

Sherlock would think it’s rather tragic if he didn’t hate the man quite as much.

In the end, he thinks, the odious man got he deserved.

A part of him keeps on hoping the same will hold true for his  _ dearest  _ husband.

* * *

 

It’s been a long while since he saw his brother this happy and while he’s… well,  _ happy  _ for him, a part of him can’t help to resent him a little. It’s petty and unfair; his brother is in no way responsible for his own unhappiness and in fact, had it been up to him, Sherlock wouldn’t have needed to marry unless he had actually _ wanted to _ , but…

He looks at John and thinks of their kiss on that fatidic night, wondering whether to ignore it is the best policy or not. A part of him wants desperately to acknowledge his feelings, but the larger, more logical side of him insists that there’s no use: as much as it pains him, he’s not free to hand out his heart to whoever he might choose.

He turns the idea around his head several times, trying to come up with a plan. His husband will never give him a divorce, no matter what. Sherlock is willing to pay nearly any price for his freedom, but that’s not the way things work: he’s bound to Moriarty till death do them apart.

If only…

* * *

 

Avoiding John isn’t easy, per se, but it’s certainly easier than seeing him and not being able to do all the things he wants to do with him. The problem is that their lives seem to be much more intertwined than Sherlock had ever thought and with Mycroft and Greg getting married in a couple of weeks, it soon becomes nearly impossible to avoid the doctor, unless he stays locked up inside his own house, which is insoportable.

It’s a hopeless situation, really.

John always seems on the verge of saying something; every time they met Sherlock can tell there’s something the other man wants to tell him, but can never quite gather enough courage to say it. In part, Sherlock is thankful for it because he doesn’t think  _ talking  _ will do them any favours but…

There is no way they can carry on like this forever, though. Sooner or later they’ll need to have that much dreaded talk and Sherlock isn’t sure how he’ll survive that, but he supposes he’ll make do.

Isn’t that the story of his life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As I said, things might not be looking very promising on the johnlock side, but it’ll end well, I promise! We only have a couple of chapters more to go, so worry not! ;) I hope to have this finished by the new year, even if it means late night writing :P  
> Let me know what you thought! Comments always make my day and today happens to be my birthday so… I’ve found they’re terrific birthday gifts, which is why I have a long standing tradition of always posting something on my birthday :P I’m just saying ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I know I said I’d finish this before New Year, but life got in the way. Now I’m back at work though, so hopefully that means I’ll have more time to write (unless I get actual work to do. I’m still looking towards a promotion, you know? :P)  
> Anyway, enough of my ramblings. This is the last chapter and then we’ll be just missing an epilogue so… enjoy!

It’s not exactly payback.

In fact, Greg would loathe to think of it as payback. He’s thankful for what Sherlock and John did, truly and he knows there’s no real way to pay them back for the frankly absurd risk they took. He also knows neither would accept any form of compensation because they did it because they care about his little girl too. So really, as far as everyone is concerned, there’s no need for payback.

But for the same reasons they both took such crazy risk to bring Eleanor back to him, he’s willing to take this also absurd risk to free Sherlock of his unhappy marriage. Family, after all, always look after each other.

Although, to be fair, there’s no much risk involved in Greg’s plan. Even if Mr. Smith was to find out what he’s doing, the worst he could is fire him and that doesn’t matter anymore. He’s not exactly keen on the idea of being a kept husband, but he knows he and Ellie won’t starve to death if he loses his job, not anymore.

So really, there’s no reason for his heart to be beating so madly inside his chest or for his hands to be shaking. He supposes all his reasoning is not enough to overcome years of fearing unemployment, but he forces himself to soldier on. He can do this. He MUST do this.

He takes a deep breath and then quickly takes out the file he’s looking for, before looking around guiltily. His co workers, however, don’t seem to have noticed a thing: it’s not really unusual for him to go into their boss office to search for a file, nor would it be really suspicious for him to come out with one under his arm. Perhaps he’s letting his nerves get the best of him.

Taking another deep breath, he gathers the documents he actually was supposed to pick up and steps out of the office, closing the door after him. One of the girls on the desks closest by looks up from her work and Greg offers her a perhaps too strained smile, but the woman simply smiles boredly before turning her attention back to her documents.

Greg hurries towards his desk, trying to look less guilty than he feels. He places the documents he’s supposed to be revising on top of the ones he has practically stolen, biting his lip nervously, wondering if this will actually work.

He’s still unsure on what Magnussen’s game was, forcing him to basically work for him, (other than thoroughly unnerve and disgust him, that is) but on the bright side, doing the man’s taxes gave him a good insight of several business which incomes are… questionable. The name Moriarty came up several times, as well as the ones from other less than respectable Lords (not that anyone would dare to call them that to their faces, of course). It doesn’t necessarily mean something, but Greg thinks that if he digs a little deeper…

Hence the sneaking into his boss office and taking the whole file. Mr. Smith isn’t nowhere near foolish enough to leave incriminating evidence lying around, but it might give Greg enough clues about what to look for next.

It’s a good plan, if he may say so himself.

Only time will tell if it’ll work.

 

* * *

 

Waking up in his lover’s arms is a luxury Greg never thought he would have. He takes a few minutes to bask in the warmth of the body next to his, curling even closer to the other man, earning himself a quiet affectionate chuckle. He smiles, looking up at his lover.

“What?” Mycroft asks at his no doubt completely besotted but incredulous look.

“Nothing,” Greg murmurs softly, his fingers tracing absent minded patterns on the other man’s chest. “It’s just- I never thought-” he shrugs noncommittally. “I never dared to dream we could have this.”

Mycroft hums in acknowledgment, his grip around Greg’s waist tightening. “I missed you terribly,” he whispers, pressing his lips to Greg’s forehead. “All these years apart… I was told many times I was being a fool for clinging onto the hope of seeing you again.”

Greg bites his lip, unsure of how he can answer that. He’s not… he still thinks he did what he had to do, but he’s well aware he hurt them both. Still, given the circumstances…

“May I ask you something?” Mycroft says after a lengthy pause, pulling away a little. Greg frowns at the seriousness of the other’s tone but nods, knowing there’s very little he’d deny to the man he loves. “Why did you decide to stay? I mean- I know that you said- and really, looking into a gift horse’s mouth is madness, but-”

Greg smiles at his partner’s awkwardness, but the question makes his stomach turn unpleasantly. After the…  _ issue  _ with Magnussen he had wanted to grab his daughter and ran as far away as he could, but he had forced himself not to panic and try to think things through this time around: running was an option, of course and a very tempting one but he had come to realize that your past always catch up with you anyhow. So he was scared, of course and worried, but he decided to take a leap of faith and hope for the best. 

“I’m not a hundred percent sure I made the right decision,” he says finally, not quite daring to meet Mycroft’s eyes. “I… I know there’s still danger, even if we actually get married in a couple of days, but I thought… There’s no point in running, not really, because sooner or later someone would put two and two together again, this time even more easily probably and I just… I’m tired of running. And I’m tired of being miserable,” he adds, almost in an afterthought and Mycroft pulls him closer to him once again. “If there’s danger in our path… well, at least we’ll be together to face it.”

“No one will ever hurt you again,” Mycroft promises earnestly, squeezing him so tightly. “I won’t let anyone hurt either of you again.”

Greg nods, pressing a quick kiss against the other’s neck. 

There are no guarantees in life.

But some risks are worth taking.

 

* * *

 

“Are you having cold feet? Because I swear to god Lestrade, if you walk out on my brother now-”

“Oh, hush,” Greg chides, pushing Sherlock into Mycroft’s office and locking the door after them. “Nothing short from death will keep me from marrying your brother now.”

Sherlock watches him for a beat, eyes narrowed, before nodding solemnly. Greg rolls his eyes dramatically, before heading for the desk and pulling out the folder he hid there just the day before, handing it to Sherlock.

The younger man raises an eyebrow, “what’s this? couldn’t it wait until after the wedding?” Sherlock demands, looking vaguely annoyed and Greg supposes he can’t blame him- as happy as he might be for them, it must be hard to watch others get the happy ending you can’t have.

Except that, if Greg’s right… “Will you just look it over?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, earning himself a very unimpressed look. “Please, Sherlock. I just want your thoughts on it.”

Sherlock sighs dramatically but does open the file and starts skimming through it. His eyes go very wide as he continues reading, a small smile coming unbidden to his lips. “Where… where did you get this?” he asks breathlessly, looking up at Greg, beaming brightly.

“My former job,” Greg says, smiling brightly as he remembers the elation he felt when he finally got to tell Mr. Smith he was quitting. “Do you think… is it enough for…?”

Sherlock hums thoughtfully, attention back on the file he’s looking through. “Perhaps. It might be tricky to get a prosecutor brave enough to present it, but…” He’s nodding to himself, evidently pleased. “This is good. Very good.”

Greg smiles, but before he can say something he finds himself being hugged so tight he can barely breath. He lets out a relieved laugh when Sherlock lets go of him and squeezes the other man’s shoulder affectionately. “I’m glad. I hope…”

Sherlock nods tightly, his eyes a little misty. It might not be a perfect solution, but with his husband in jail, Sherlock at least will have as much freedom as he can.

“Well, enough of that,” Sherlock declares, carefully hiding the file back into Mycroft’s desk. “This wedding has been postponed long enough, I should think.”

Indeed it has.

 

* * *

 

The actual ceremony is very quiet and somber. Ellie is thrilled, of course and she lets out a high pitched squeal when the judge pronounces them married, John and Sherlock clapping politely but evidently happy too.

Greg smiles at his now husband, his heart ready to burst with happiness, not quite believing he’s not dreaming. He knows in his bones he’s wide awake and yet, it always seemed so impossible-

But here they are. It might have taken a while and the situation is still far from perfect, but they’re together and madly in love and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

Whatever comes next, they’ll face it together.

And isn’t that a most comforting thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, does that last part feel super awkward? Or is just me, overthinking things as usual? :P
> 
> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
> We’re missing an epilogue, of course, although I do think this works well in terms of an ending, at least on the Mystrade-side. But I promised a happy ending for everyone and I’ll deliver. Also, I really want to write a short domestic scene set a few years in the future so…
> 
> Next chapter should be posted before Friday, because one of my New Year's’ resolutions is finishing my WIPs and according to the calendar I set for myself, january 12th is the deadline to finish this particular work. I just hope I’ll actually manage to stick to it ;)
> 
> On a slightly different note, I’m participating on the [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com) auction once again. In case you’re not familiar with it,[here’s](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/aboutus) more information on how the auction works and he’s my [contributor post](https://fth2018offerings.tumblr.com/post/169445949959/ylc-fth-contributor-page), in case someone is interested on bidding on a work of mine. Remember, it’s for a good cause! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The final chapter!  
> Enjoy!

It’s a surprisingly nice day when they finally arrive at London, despite the fact it’s the middle of the winter. It’s mildly cold, although the air feels a bit humid and there are dark clouds on the sky, signaling it’s likely it’ll rain later. If the temperature drops a bit lower, it might even snow.

So perhaps it’s not such a nice day after all, but John is happy to be back in London anyway.

The train station is packed, so he pulls Sherlock a little closer to him. The younger man startles, turning to look at John with big frightened eyes. John lets go of him immediately, remembering they’re no longer traveling aboard, where no one will know them and so no one will care about what they do.

Sherlock takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “Sorry, I just-”

“It’s fine,” John assures him, a small smile on his lips. “Besides… it won’t matter soon.”

Sherlock huffs. “Oh yes, because getting a boyfriend right after my husband’s funeral wouldn’t be a scandal at all.”

John chuckles goodnaturedly, “as if you cared about the scandal. I thought we were just worried about said husband actually doing something about it? or, you know, that he sought revenge for putting him in jail?”

Sherlock hums. “You might have a point.” He smiles mischeviously, linking his arm with John’s and the doctor smiles at him, standing on his tiptoes to press a quick kiss against his cheek. 

“People will talk,” John says teasingly and Sherlock smiles back as they make their way out of the station.

“People do little else.”

 

* * *

 

Greg is waiting for them outside the station, just as he promised he would, although John has trouble spotting him since he has 3 bodyguards surrounding him. John arches an eyebrow questioningly and Greg rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Mycroft’s idea. I’ve given up on trying to change his mind.”

He and Greg embrace, while Sherlock observes the older man funnily. When they pull apart, Greg turns to hug Sherlock, who endures it with a long suffering sigh that makes his companion chuckle.

“You’ve been busy, I see,” Sherlock says, as they start walking towards the car. 

Greg’s smile is bright as the sun as he pats his swollen abdomen. “You have no idea,” he says slyly. “We wanted to tell you, of course, but Mycroft said it was better if we didn’t contact you at all. I think he knew where you were all the time, but he wouldn’t tell me anything,” he shrugs. “Understandable, really.”

John hums, pulling Sherlock a little closer once again. After Moriarty was arrested, he and Sherlock had had to practically flee the country, since the man had set a couple of mercenaries on them. John hadn’t been exactly thrilled at having to run away, but he understood it was the safest thing to do.

These last two years might have been a little nerve wracking, having to move constantly, but he can’t deny he was happy, despite everything. He was with the man he loved and although hiding, they were together.

And then, just 3 days ago, they finally got notice that Moriarty was dead (the letter hadn’t said what exactly had happened, but it didn’t really matter to them), his associates were either also dead or hiding and the mercenaries he had set on them had been dealt with, so they could come back to London.

He smiles a little more, looking around him, taking in the city, happy to be back, alive and still with his beloved.

What else could he ask for?

 

* * *

 

They arrive to Mycroft’s and Greg’s house and John’s jaw drops to the floor. His friend smiles sheepishly, exiting the car and leading them in, explaining he hadn’t really thought a bigger house was needed, but Mycroft had insisted and Greg apparently doesn’t know how to say no to his husband.

The moment they walk into the house, a young redhead girl comes running towards them and hugs John tightly. John smiles, hugging Ellie back and so it takes him a little longer to realize they have company.

“Very busy, indeed,” Sherlock says, staring at the toddler clumsily walking towards them. Ellie smiles brightly, going to pick up her little sister and bringing her to meet them.

“This is Faith,” she introduces the girl solemnly. “And these are uncle Sherlock and uncle John.”

The girl looks at them with big wide eyes before fussing in her sister’s arms, so Greg grabs her immediately. Ellie pouts and Greg chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, making her smile once more.

“Well, as I said… I couldn’t write to you.” Greg says with a small shrug. “And now you understand why the bigger house, huh?”

“Are you planning on having more?!” Sherlock demands, scandalized and John chuckles.

“Well, it’s not like we were planning any, we just-”

“Oh, good lord, shut up!” Sherlock exclaims, with the universal horrified look of younger siblings that have just found out their older siblings do have a sex life.

Greg laughs good naturedly while Ellie looks between them, confused. “I do want more siblings,” she murmurs softly, which just prompts more laughter from her father and a loud groan from Sherlock. “And cousins,” she adds after a beat, which silences everyone in the room quite effectively.

Well. That is… Well. Not something they have discussed. At all.

“Let’s get lunch, huh?” Greg proposes after a beat, breaking the tense silence. “It was a long trip and you guys must be starving!”

John nods and follows after his friend, sparing a quick look in Sherlock’s direction. The younger man looks… thoughtful, but not displeased and John tells himself once more everything will be fine.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think I want children,” Sherlock tells him later, after they have retired to the guest bedroom to rest for a little while. “Do you?”

John shrugs non committedly. “Never thought much about it, truth to be told. I- When I was married, Mary and I discussed it a couple of times but it wasn’t something I had very strong opinions about.”

Sherlock nods, expression thoughtful. “Do you wish to marry again?”

John bites his lip, considering this. Sherlock is staring at him intently and he doesn’t think he could lie to him, even though he’s not sure his answer is the right one. “I don’t think so. I just… I mean, I love you, but-”

“Yes, I understand,” Sherlock says, sounding like he really does. “Me neither, to be honest.”

Oh. Well. Glad they’re on the same page. “We should try to get some sleep. It was a long trip.”

Sherlock hums, rolling onto his usual side of the bed and waiting for John to come and join him. When the doctor does, he curls closer to him while John embraces him. Sherlock hums contently, pressing a kiss to John’s neck and falling asleep shortly after.

John smiles, one hand tracing Sherlock’s spine absentmindedly. 

There’s really nothing else he could ask for.

 

* * *

 

Last time John saw Mycroft, the older man looked a little harried; too many things to worry about. He looks much healthier now and certainly much happier, especially when Greg finally comes to sit next to him on the couch, pulling his husband close right away.

“I’m glad to see you two are fine,” Mycroft states calmly, leaning back on his seat and dragging Greg with him. “The funeral is in a couple of days, but I don’t think anyone is expecting you to show up,” he tells his brother, earning himself an amused huff from Sherlock.

“Oh, but imagine the scandal!” he exclaims sarcastically, prompting laughter from John and Greg. Mycroft rolls his eyes dramatically, but his lips curve upwards briefly. “What about… everything else?”

“The house has already been sold,” Mycroft explains. “And since there is no other family member than you, everything should go to you. Or me, I should say, considering I’m the family’s Alpha now.”

Sherlock huffs again, leaning against John and so the doctor wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t want anything,” he murmurs. “I got my freedom back and that’s all I care about.”

Mycroft hums in agreement, one hand tracing idle circles on Greg’s knee. “Have you thought about what you’ll do now? You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, of course and the house is perhaps a little bigger than what we need-” Greg huffs at this and Mycroft smiles sheepishly before placing a quick kiss against his husband’s forehead. “So you can stay here indefinitely, too.”

John turns to Sherlock, one eyebrow arched questioningly and the younger man shrugs, casually, not looking terribly interested. “I honestly don’t care,” he says, staring directly at John. “As long as we’re together, I don’t care where we are.”

John smiles, shrugging casually. There’s no need to rush into a decision and for now, he’s happy exactly where he is.

Everything else can wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… the end!
> 
> We’re done! Finally done! I did finish on time! :P
> 
> So, as usual, a million thanks to everyone for reading, leaving kudos and/or comments. It’s been a joy to write this and get to share it with all of you my dears, I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. I think I did wrap everything up, but do let me know if you feel there’s something missing ;)
> 
> I’m currently working on finishing my other WIPs, but I do have a couple of plot bunnies biting on my ankles so… I might post a new fic soonish :P Also, I’m participating on the Mystrade Valentines on tumblr, so that’s definitely coming up some time soon ;)
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Also, may I remind you there’s still time to participate on the [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/aboutus) auction and here’s my [contributor’s post](https://fth2018offerings.tumblr.com/post/169445949959/ylc-fth-contributor-page) in case you’re interested on bidding on me ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> “See” you around!

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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